


Dark Heart

by tellmesomethingnew



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Dark Hermione Granger, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Smut, Tomione Fest 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesomethingnew/pseuds/tellmesomethingnew
Summary: The locket stuck around Hermione's neck had so many effects on her, that a deal with the Dark Lord himself -- to ensure her friend's safety -- was all it took to bring her down to Tom Riddle's level.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to give a big thank-you to my beta, who never gave up on me, who was there for me from the very beginning of this project. Not only has she become a friend, but she has really helped me out with my writing.

**Prologue**

The wooden stairs groaned beneath the old, worn boots of a shaking man. His eyes, drowned in lack of sleep and fear, remained on the door that awaited him at the top of the grand staircase that curved down to the floor. His dirty, shaking hands wrung his hat, breathing heavily. Forcing his lips into a thin line, he held his breath and took a step up to the door. He raised a hand into a first, ready to knock, but hesitating. His ears were only able to pick up the sound of a crackling fire on the other side of the door, and that terrified him.

The door swung open angrily when he waited too long to knock. A woman with wide, mad brown eyes and large, curly black hair greeted him with a rather unhappy expression. Bellatrix Lestrange was a woman to fear, but the fear one had for her was nothing of comparison to the man that sat in the armchair behind her, facing the crackling fireplace.

An invisible force dragged the man over the threshold, Bellatrix standing to the side just to slam the door shut behind the man as he entered. He let out a deep breath just to hold it once more as the tattoo on his right arm burned. He was still a new Death Eater.

“Well? What is it!” Bellatrix hissed in a demanding voice.

The man’s mind stammered into the words he tried to speak. He was so scared.

“ _ Answer me! _ ” Bellatrix screeched into his ear.

“W-we found the location of the locket-” the man started before another invisible force dragged him further into the room until he was left on his knees before the back of the armchair. 

One would think it was just the Death Eater and Bellatrix in the room, for the silence on the other side of the chair had been too great until the Death Eater eyed a slender, pale hand reaching out to pet the large green snake resting beside him. 

“And?” came a silky male voice from the armchair.

The Death Eater gulped down air before answering, “A mudblood girl has it.”

Bellatrix looked between the man in the armchair and the Death Eater kneeling behind it, watching intensely with silence. Her arched wand was at the ready in her hand in case she had to use it on the Death Eater. He hoped she wouldn’t.

“Do tell me more,” said the man from the armchair with a calmness.

The Death Eater bowed his head and stammered, “Of course, my Lord.”

* * *

**Chapter One**

Summer was over. Hermione Granger didn’t need to know the date, or think about how she was missing out on her last year at Hogwarts. She just needed to focus on the cold morning wind ripping right through her jumper and worn jeans, which wasn’t at the top of her list of things she honestly wanted to be thinking about. Getting caught by a Death Eater was at the top of her list.

Her hand raised and wrapped around the heavy Salazar Slytherin locket hanging around her neck, bouncing against her chest with each heavy step she took. The smell of dead leaves against the damp earth stood potent against Hermione’s sense of smell. It was all she had come to know in the large amount of time she had spent in the forest. As much as she wished she could rip the locket straight off, she knew it would be useless. The near-death attempt they had done on trying to take it off just days before, nearly costing Ron his life, was proof enough.

There was only one solution left and that involved the Death Eaters and possibly,  Voldemort himself. Surely one of them would know how to retrieve it off of her. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had tried everything they could think of, excluding the most harmful of the ideas.

She was exhausted and hungry. The madness of the chasing and the running seemed so endless to Hermione to the point she wondered if it would ever end. The only thing that kept her going anymore was the fighting attempt she was making at stopping Voldemort from tearing apart the world and the pain she knew she would ease from Harry.

She stopped to gather her strength, filling her canteen with water and purifying it with her wand.  _ Any moment now _ , she thought to herself.  _ They will find me _ . 

She found a thick tree to rest against, pulling a blanket from the bag she had brought with her. The extension charm she had placed on the bag was helpful enough. As the sun dipped low into the horizon, barely visible from behind the thick clouds threatening Hermione with rain, Hermione rested her head back against the bark and felt as relaxed as she could be given the circumstances. She almost got up to place around wards should she fall asleep, but stopped herself. She needed the Death Eaters to find her, after all. 

* * *

Hermione woke early in the morning to the sound of leaves and branches snapping. Her body was set on the edge of something consisting of a cross between fear and awareness. Even though she wanted to be sought out by the Death Eaters, she still couldn’t help the human nature of the fear and anxiety that came with the very thought of what they would do to her, let alone being so near to such horrible monsters.

She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, but it hadn’t been too long ago due to the heaviness in her eyes and the strong, familiar feeling of unfulfilled sleep. She pushed her sore body off the tree she had been laying against, the blanket from her bag partially covered with scattered dead leaves and the air only partially warmer than it had been when she had sat down to rest. Her stomach grumbled and she took just a second to wrack her brain to think of if she had any rations left in her purse, only to remember that she hadn’t. Dusk was trying to break through the cloudy sky. Surely it would rain sometime that day.

What was taking the Death Eaters so long to find her? Just weeks ago, they were crawling the entire forest.

More leaves and branches snapped, harnessing Hermione’s full attention as she stilled. The snap was far too loud for it to belong to an animal. It was human, she decided. Slowly, she twisted around where she sat and looked around the edge of the tree to the direction the sounds had come from. 

There in her line of vision, she caught sight of a man dressed in clean flannel and worn jeans. His back was to her and he was gathering branches and sticks. His grunt bounced off the trees as he tried to break a branch free from a large, decaying log. She turned back to her side of the tree in time as the man began to turn around. She wasn’t ready to be seen. Not yet, at least. 

“Bloody hell!” she heard him curse, his voice smooth, sounding like he must have been in his twenties or thirties. She heard louder wooden crunch and couldn’t help but jump nearly out of her skin when he cursed again.

He sighed and his footsteps against the dead earth retreated away from the area.

Hermione looked around, taking in what was in view. Judging by the nearby stream and the masses of rocks, she was in the heart of the forest. Curiosity got the better of her, deciding that he could either be just a random nobody or a Death Eater. If he wasn’t the latter, maybe she’d be able to trade him something from her bag for food.

Her legs groaned as she got to her feet, shaking out her blanket and putting it away into her bag as she set out in the direction he had went off into.

Some minutes later, she found his camp. A large muggle tent was pitched up, facing a smart, man-made campfire. An old log had been dragged over to be provided as a place to sit, facing the fire. It was crackling and well-fed, a two-part connect pole sitting above it with a pot attached to it. The man, with his back still to her, sat at the log, stirring something in the pot. Beside the campfire sat a small pile of compiled sticks and branches. From just his back, he had dark raven hair and his skin was pale, judging from the skin she saw on his neck and his bare hands.

A smell hit her nostrils and she was too focused on the idea of food that she hadn’t watched where she was walking. Her boot split a twig in half on top of a fair amount of dead leaves, making the man turn his head and look at Hermione.

Their eyes caught and she held her breath. Cold, curious gray eyes looked back at her, belonging to a face so handsome… She looked around the camp once more, putting the pieces together. The muggle tent was zipped open, showing just a single lantern, a small bag, and a sleeping bag. There were no blankets, no signs of magic, and no sight of a wand. There was no way he was a Death Eater.

“Hello,” said the man, appearing puzzled by Hermione’s presence.

“H-hello,” Hermione said, her voice faltering for a brief moment as she felt color hit her face. She felt embarrassed and nervous. 

The man looked around before placing his eyes back on her, getting to his feet with the ladle still in his hand from the stirring she had interrupted. “Can I help you?” he asked, rather awkwardly.

Hermione tried to think of what to say, and what she managed to speak was, “I’m on my way somewhere, and I’ve managed to take longer than expected. I saw your camp and was wondering if I could perhaps trade you one of my possessions for a bit of food,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked back down at the pot over the fire.

The man twisted around to look where she was looking and then looked back at her, cocking a rather attractive half-smile. Pointing towards the campfire, “Well, lucky for you, I’ve made extra. I think I can spare some of my soup.”

Hermione swung her bag around immediately and went to open it, ready to offer up the man anything she could part with, only for him to reach up a hand and motion for her to stop.

“Please, don’t worry about trading. It’s my pleasure,” the man said as he grabbed a bowl that had been hidden beside the log. He leaned forward with the ladle and immediately began pouring in scoops of a meaty stew that made Hermione’s stomach grumble just at the sight of it. 

He reached the bowl out for Hermione, complete with an attached wooden spoon. She took it with a polite  _ thank you _ and took the empty space next to the man. As she began to dig into the steaming stew, which contained pieces of pork, vegetables, and a thick beef-flavored broth, the man began to talk more.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. “No. My parents used to take me out here to camp all the time. I know this forest like the back of my hand.”

“Well I suppose that’s a comfort,” he said as he watched her eat. “What’s your name?” he then asked with another half-smirk.

Hermione paused for a moment. She could give a fake name, just to be safe, or she could be honest to a muggle being warm and friendly to her. She chose the latter.

“Hermione. And yours?” she asked.

“Tom.”

Hermione nodded and ate more of the stew. 

Tom’s eyes lowered to the glimpse of the locket around Hermione’s neck. “What an interesting necklace. Family heirloom?”

Hermione froze. Her eyes slowly lowering to the locket she thought she had hidden out of view beneath her jacket. It must have slipped out from the sleep. The question had been so random that it had raised a red flag in Hermione’s mind immediately. Maybe he really was a Death Eater.

Tom read her face and chuckled. “Do forgive me. I come from a family of jewelers. I can’t help but feel excited when I see a piece as beautiful as that,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes fell back down to the necklace and Hermione swore she saw a sense of greediness flash through his eyes.

Hermione touched the necklace, slowing down for a minute to calm herself down. Suddenly, it felt like she had lost her appetite from the shake of anxiety. 

“I actually found it,” she said shakily. “I guess you could say it was a lucky find.”  _ Or a curse _ , Hermione then thought as she swallowed whatever was left of the stew in her mouth from the last bite. 

Hermione had slowed down to where her senses were able to pick up other things. Like the smell of lavender and valerian. She sniffed the bowl and froze. It couldn’t be…

“Lavender?” Hermione questioned just as she was beginning to feel the first hit of the sleeping draught.

Tom’s face twisted into something completely different. 

“Sleeping draught, Hermione. You’re quite inquisitive,” Tom said as he voice had changed into something more cold and sinister. 

Hermione blinked down at the half-eaten bowl of the stew. Definitely Death Eater.

“My name is Voldemort. I would assume you’ve heard of me,” he said as he got to his feet as Hermione’s head began to fall dizzy. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the sleeping draught or the sudden shock and fear that rushed through her veins at hearing the name. 

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” Voldemort said before darkness consumed Hermione’s consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

When Hermione woke, her head felt heavy and the bed she had been curled up in was almost far too inviting to get up from. The room was dark, making it hard to look around and guess where she might have been brought to, once she was even able to open her eyes. She faintly recalled what had happened when she had last been awake. It was close to a blur to her, but the memory of the starvation she was facing mixed with a friendly face offering her tainted food had jogged her memory and she remembered fully what had happened. Voldemort had found her, when she had been waiting for the Death Eaters to find her first.

Why did Voldemort go through such great lengths himself to capture Hermione when he could have easily set out Death Eaters to do the job for him? She sat up in her bed and her hands went out to touch the blankets, the sheets, feeling the space around her. The bed was large, covered in luxurious silks and plush blankets. 

Then she moved her hands, feeling her arms, legs, and then her stomach, understanding that she was still in the clothes Voldemort had found her in. Her body, though warm and comfortable, felt sticky and filthy from the woods. She wondered if she’d ever get a bath before Voldemort would surely kill her.

From somewhere within the room, a door opened, and little footsteps caught her ears. Her body went still and her heartbeat throbbed in her ears. And then, from Hermione’s right, heavy, thick curtains were drawn to let in the gloomy daylight. From the foot of what was a four-poster bed, she caught  sight of the top of an elf’s head. 

The aphotic lighting gave Hermione an idea of where she was. A manor somewhere, but definitely nowhere dingy. The room was large, furnished with a small table and two grand cushioned chairs facing a large fireplace in the wall. A mahogany armoire sat off to the right next to the window where the light had been let in,  the colors of the bedding were charcoal gray and a deep forest green. Hermione caught sight of the slytherin crest hanging on the mantle of the fireplace. She swallowed, her throat feeling swollen with worry. “Malfoy” sat in her mind. It made sense that they’d use the Malfoy Manor as the current headquarters for Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

A bench sat at the foot of the bed and with a grumble of words Hermione couldn’t catch, the elf placed a folded pile of clothing onto it. 

“Master says to draw a bath for mudblood, I must draw bath for mudblood,” she heard it say. 

Still remaining silent, trying to soak everything in, Hermione kept her eyes on the elf as it moved around the room. She watched it open a door, showing what looked to be a bathroom. As the elf disappeared inside, Hermione kicked the blankets off of herself, soon hearing the sound of running water and catching the faint scent of gardenia.

The elf, looking old and angry with age, exited the bathroom, then  the bedroom where Hermione heard the click of a lock. Surely she was to bathe and ready herself to face Voldemort, again.

When she understood that she was alone, her common sense kicked in, and she thought of the warm water and the soap waiting for her. She got to her feet, though rather wobbly, and made her way to the bathroom where she closed the door. As habit, she reached into her pocket where she always kept her wand, only to find it gone.

Suddenly, it had sunk in. She was trapped, under the mercy of Voldemort himself. She wasn’t sure on where it was going to go, but judging by the fact that they hadn’t killed her yet and found out a way to just get the damn necklace off of her, something was wrong. 

She caught her reflection in the grand white gold ornate-framed mirror that hung above the bathroom counter where the porcelain sink sat in the very middle. Her ribs were protruding through her skin and her porcelain skin, malnourished, the mirror showed her the splats of dirt that covered all over. And there, amongst the chaos and the horror, the flawless, untouched silver Slytherin locket that hung from her neck.

Her lips formed into a thin line as her vision blurred faintly with tears of shame and she turned her head away from the mirror and to the bathtub that held the milky steaming, gardenia-scented water. A part of her imagined the water being poisoned, filled with acid to torture her, but she took the risk as she raised a leg, shaky, and hungry again. She stepped into the clawfoot tub and gingerly, shakily, lowered herself down until the water covered her all the way up to her collarbone. The water was scalding at first, but after a moment of the shock to her skin, the heat became a comfort and began seeping in to reach her cold bones. On a small little holster hanging off to the side of the tub, a brand new sponge and a bar of soap sat waiting for her alongside of two potion-like bottles labeled “shampoo” and “conditioner”. Before she reached for them, she leaned her back against the tub and relaxed her entire body. Her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a small sight. She never wanted to leave.

When her entire body and hair had been cleaned, she forced herself out of the tub to search for food. She wished her wand had been on her so she could dry herself off quickly, but dealt with just a fluffy caramel-colored towel. She paused in her path to the sink where she had last seen a comb she wanted to attempt on her hair. Where her dirty clothes had last been, had all but disappeared. She remembered the clothes she had seen on the bench at the foot of the bed. She assumed she was to change into that. 

It took some time, but she had finally dried herself down and combed through her hair, which hadn’t been touched in so long. With the towel wrapped around herself, she stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom where the clean clothes still sat waited for her. As her damp hair dried, she slipped into the clean underwear and clothes provided. It consisted of fine silk underwear with a matching bra, a slip that felt like a dream against her skin, and a deep emerald green dress with loose silk sleeves that met with a tight three-inch band fastened with a pearl button to keep the sleeves from falling down her wrist. There were no hair accessories available to her disposal so she could pin her bangs out from her face, so she made due with tucking it behind her ear, still keeping her hair parted to the side.

A knock sounded at the door as Hermione slipped into the black flats available for her feet. Hermione, afraid of who it could be, turned her back to the door and crossed her arms over her chest as she stood by the window, looking out at the heavy rain. When she said nothing, not even sure what to call out to the stranger, the door opened.

Soft heels sounded against the wooden floor at the threshold. It was a woman, judging by how gentle and wary the steps were.

“You know you have the power to barge in. Why bother knocking?” Hermione asked cooly, her eyes trying to make out what must be a back garden through the blur of the rain and the foggy perspiration clinging to the window.

“That really wouldn’t be polite, as you are our guest,” came an older woman’s voice.

Hermione had only seen Draco’s mother in person once, years ago, but she was still quite able to make out the voice of Narcissa. She was the woman who put her son at risk because of Voldemort, regardless of how vile of a person Draco was.

“If I’m a guest, then why is the door locked? Where are my things? My wand?” Hermione questioned as she turned around and looked at Narcissa.

Narcissa had changed drastically since she had last seen her. Bags of worry and sleep deprivation hung beneath her cold eyes, but she still hadn’t missed a beat of makeup with her red lips and her mascara and eyeliner. She was still a beautiful woman, regardless of the proof of what Voldemort and the others had put her through since Voldemort had come back.

“All in due time,” Narcissa said, flashing Hermione with a smile so fake that Hermione couldn’t tell what she’d seen more out of it, fear or annoyance. After all, Hermione wasn’t a pureblood. Narcissa and Lucius had come from a strong line of purebloods. She was in dangerous territory. 

“The Dark Lord requires your presence. You’re to have dinner with him.”

Hermione gulped, opening her mouth to speak only to be cut off by Narcissa. Narcissa blinked and looked down at the floor, making a swift motion with her hand to express her words. “It would be in your best interest not to refuse.”

Hermione’s mouth tightened into a frown. 

* * *

Malfoy Manor was a beautiful home. Hermione half-expected it to be a cold place, but found it to be a chilling, unfriendly home despite it being filled with fine furnishings, family portraits, walls of trophies, and vases of flowers. Hermione’s room had been kept in the farthest corners of the second floor. She followed Narcissa down the hallways, until they finally came upon a grand staircase that circled down partially to the first floor where she caught a strong scent of food. Her shaky hands held on the stair railing for dear life, afraid that her frailness would cause her to fall down the stairs. She reminded herself she had to just keep her strength long enough to get her to the food.

Narcissa led Hermione into the dining room where a long table covered in expensive linens ran the length of the room to where a crackling fireplace sat at the opposite end. And before the fireplace, a familiar male figure with his hands behind his back in a relaxed clutch. A man, clearly a Death Eater, stood beside him, close to his ear. The Death Eater was clearly whispering something to him. 

The man, Hermione knew it was Voldemort, raised his hand and the Death Eater jerked away, shutting his mouth. 

“Leave us,” said Voldemort.

Hermione panicked as she turned to Narcissa, who backed out of the archway they had passed through. She suddenly thought of the woman as a comfort, but she was being torn away from her for a private audience with the Dark Lord himself, the man at fault for deaths of thousands of innocents.

The Death Eater quickly moved away and through a door near the fireplace. It slammed behind him as Hermione stood still, staring at the back of Voldemort’s head as her breath hitched.

“Hermione Granger,”  Voldemort murmured, as if thinking to himself. “Come here,” he then ordered in a faint, but deadly voice.

Hermione’s breath was ragged as her heartbeat quickened. She hesitated, but thought better as she rounded the table until she couldn’t help but stop at the corner of the table, facing Voldemort. She didn’t want to be any closer to him than she had to be. She didn’t want to see his face, if it was still as deadly handsome as it had been in the forest when she fell into his trap. Her eyes glanced at the table, at the fine cutlery, linen tablecloth and napkins, and the fine china that sat empty before the serving bowls of mashed potatoes, vegetables, a platter of chicken, and a boat of gravy. Two of the glass goblets that sat by the place settings were filled with wine, marking where Voldemort and Hermione would sit. He would be at the end, no doubt, and she would be at his left. 

“Tell me, Hermione.  How does one such as yourself come across a horcrux that was supposedly carefully hidden?” Voldemort asked her.

She felt the faint kiss of his eyes on her cheek, and then down to her neck, and her face reddened. He was looking at her and she was so afraid to look back at him. She suddenly wished Harry or Ron were there, anyone. She felt so alone.

“I found it,” Hermione said. Her voice failed her in trying to appear strong, letting out a shaky, unkempt sound. 

Tom leaned towards her. “Lies,” he whispered to her in a low hiss.

Hermione breathed out heavily, focusing on the silver lining on the china set that sat neatly among the table.

“Sit, Hermione. We have much to discuss,” Voldemort then said a bit more calmly. 

Hermione grabbed the back of the chair she assumed she’d be sitting in and pulled it out, lowering herself down onto the plush cushioning. Her hands clasped together on her lap and she rung them, trembling.

Voldemort watched her carefully, coldly smirking at the fact that she didn’t wait for him to be seated first, even though she didn’t know she had to. She wasn’t on his side after all. He lowered himself down into his chair next and then motioned to the food before them.

“Eat,” he commanded simply.

Hermione stared at the food, an anger boiling within her as she looked over at the steaming plates. There had been a reason he was bribing her with food, which was probably the best she’d had since the Weasley’s wedding. She felt spiteful towards him and the food. She much would have rather eaten in her room. 

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured, no matter the lie her aching stomach proved.

Voldemort smirked at her. Sending an uncomfortable silence her way until she found herself looking over at him, which she soon regretted. A cold expression hung off a face of handsome features. Features that somehow fit her imagination of what Tom Marvolo Riddle might have looked like back when he had opened the Chamber of Secrets, but somehow  older. Perhaps it was what he looked like before he had damned his split soul so terribly his face had warped to the likeness of the snake that he was. The question was, then, how he had gotten his old form back?

Hermione dismissed such a thought when a part of her reminded herself just how powerful of a wizard he was. Perhaps the most powerful to ever have existed beyond Merlin.

“You can’t lie to me, Hermione. I know you’re so hungry in this very moment that your blood sugar has reached a peak that is leaving you dizzy and your limbs shaky. You’re awfully sunken in with hunger, and I suggest you eat now or perhaps I’ll force it down your throat,” he threatened as his cold eyes lowered to her throat. He motioned to the food and leaned back in his chair. 

That made her blood boil, but she knew she had no choice. Both for her sake and the Dark Lord’s. If she had to deal with him, she wanted to do it as strong as she possibly could be. So she leaned forward and with roughness, scooped the food onto her plate. Tom sat back and watched her the entire time, up until she took her first bite. Only then did he momentarily look away from her and get his own plate of food. It was when he began cutting into his chicken that he began talking.

“You were a foolish little mudblood to be in the forest alone like that. It was far too easy for me to find you,” he said with an annoyance. His lips scowled down at his food.

Hermione’s eyes fell down onto the food. It was warm, fresh, and carefully cooked. After the first bite, she found it impossible to stop until she would feel full. “I wanted to be found,” she said in between bites.

Tom froze, resting his hand down to where his fork rested against the plate as their eyes met again. His look was so chilling that it sent a shiver down Hermione’s spine. 

“By whom?” Voldemort asked.

“Your Death Eaters. I was rather surprised to find you instead,” Hermione said with a quizzical look as she slightly squinted at Voldemort in a cold, suspicious way.

Hermione felt surprised with herself. One moment, fear was all she could think about, and the next, she had no issues talking with Voldemort. Even after he called her such a nasty word on multiple occasions with the promise of more to come.

“And why did you want to be found?”

Hermione picked at her chicken. She was already starting to feel full. It had been a while since she had such filling food that she feared  getting sick should she eat too much. 

“You already know,” Hermione answered after a moment’s pause.

Tom smirked again, eating more of his chicken the air  filled with silence. He didn’t speak until he had cleared his plate and sat back in his chair holding the glass goblet to his lips. 

Hermione took a sip of the luxurious wine that was before her, sniffing it first for any trace of poison. The wine smelled strong and heavy with berries and expenses. It must have been quite the fine wine. 

“Are you finished?” Voldemort asked after Hermione had drunk half her goblet, which had casted a warm, calm feeling about her. 

“Yes,” Hermione said hastily. “May I be excused to my room?”

A cold, malicious laugh reached Hermione’s ears. “Polite, despite your given situation. Intriguing. You may not.”

Hermione watched as Voldemort took out a wand. She recognized it instantly. It was hers. It made her wonder if he was in possession with her bag as well. Before she could say anything, he aimed her own wand at her and a force was pulling her from the chair and to her feet. 

“Are you prepared, Hermione?”

“For?” Hermione questioned breathlessly.

Left and right, Voldemort instantly began spewing spells at her. He tried spells to unlock, unstick, disarm, spell reverses, spells Hermione didn’t understand or recall. Her head was spinning with the spell he chanted so flawlessly with such determination that the next spell, another unknown spell, threw her completely off guard.

Pain, so intense, filled Hermione’s body. At first she thought he had used the Cruciatus Curse on her, until a faint light beamed from the locket around her neck and Voldemort was flung backwards into his chair so harshly, he crashed with it to the floor. A metal-like screech hit her ears and after the shock of the pain had worn off, she found her voice, screeching with the locket. The pain knocked her onto her backside as the stone floor met with it unforgivingly. Her head had begun to spin.

Voldemort was quick to get onto his feet just as Narcissa came hurrying through the archway.

“What in Merlin’s Beard!” Narcissa expressed with surprise when she came to the scene.

Immediately, she hurried forward and knelt down to Hermione, who struggled to sit up. 

Voldemort looked down at the two, his lips curling with hatred. “Take her to her room,” he immediately stressed.

Narcissa looked up at the Dark Lord for a brief moment before nodding her head. She helped Hermione onto her feet. The minute Hermione stood up, her body curled over and she hurled up everything she had just eaten moments ago from her throat. 

* * *

Bellatrix was met at the door by a Death Eater, who took her cloak and rested it on the nearby hall tree. It was soaked with rain, but the Death Eater flung his wand at its direction and instantly dried it for her before the water would start making a mess against the entrance hall floor. 

“Where is he?” Bellatrix asked.

The Death Eater bowed his head for a moment. “In his room.”

Bellatrix looked up the stairs for a moment, sighing before she ascended them. She knocked first, and when called in, she entered to find him practically where she had left him, sitting in his chair, staring at the fireplace. Only this time, his face was troubled with curiosity and something else.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked him as she sat down on the armrest of his chair. 

“We have the mudblood girl,” said Voldemort without sparing a glance at the witch.

Bellatrix blinked at the Voldemort before she grinned wildly. “The one with your locket?”

“Yes,” said Voldemort as he turned his head. He looked up at Bellatrix with a look of hatred. “And there is no possible way to get that locket off of that damn mublood without ruining it.”

Bellatrix, looking back at Voldemort, frowned. “Impossible,” she muttered.

Voldemort looked back at the fire, as if mesmerized. “Yes. Impossible indeed.”

A moment of uneasy silence filled the grand master bedroom as Voldemort’s eyes gazed at the fire, deep in his own thoughts. 

“Call forth the council. We have much to discuss.”

* * *

Hermione’s body vibrated with the intensity of hellbent uneasiness. Thoughts polluted her mind, telling her how she should have never sought out Voldemort’s kind, how it was all but a fool’s errand. She could still feel the pain from the spell he had used on her, whatever it could have been. She thought she would know if he had used the unforgivable curse on her, but then again, it was Voldemort. She was sure he was smart and both dark enough to think up his own painful curses. After all, Snape had been able to succeed as much.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto the cushioned window seat that sat partially hidden by the thick curtains that hung from each side. She had just taken off her dress she had worn for the day, followed with slipping into a loose, charcoal-colored, silky nightgown she found in the armoire. She raised a leg to rest her foot against the cushion, soon leaning her chin on the depths of her knee. Her mind, for just a moment wrapped around the hatred she had for Voldemort and herself for what she had gotten into, her thoughts soon melted into the bittersweet peacefulness of the memory of Ron and Harry. 

Her heart ached, missing her two best friends. Absentmindedly, her hand reached up and touched the locket that hung just above the peak into her cleavage peeking up just above the neckline of her nightgown. She wondered what they would be doing, how Harry was fairing taking care of Ron who was near death when she had left them. A single foolish spell meant to destroy the damned locket had turned against Ron. However, she trusted Harry. She knew well enough she had left Ron in safe hands. Harry might not have had the full opportunity of school he should have had, but he was smart. 

Her thoughts came to an end, switching into nothingness when she felt a presence within the room.

“Why should I have thought that Voldemort himself would even have any manners to knock?” Hermione asked shakily more to herself than the man -- no,  _ thing _ standing in her room. 

Her head turned and her eyes lifted to meet with the cold eyes of Voldemort. 

His lips tilted into a half-smile, his eyes boring into her. He stood in a basic raven black suit, just merely missing a tie. His collar had been unbuttoned down to just the peak where a few chest hairs could be seen. In the stillness of the night, Hermione wondered carefully. How could such a soulless creature have such a beautiful outward appearance? How had he even retrieved his former physical self? His dark hair sat unshoveled, hanging over his left eye. He looked restless and intense.

“Why are you even here then?” Hermione asked when he left the air more quiet than she had liked.

Voldemort slowly walked deeper into her room until he stopped and lowered himself onto the bench at the foot of the bed. He took out his hands from his pockets and bent forward to where his elbows rested on his knees and his hands clasped together in a graceful, fluid motion of calmness. 

“I came to tell you the news, Hermione,” Voldemort murmured to her. He never blinked.

Hermione looked away and focused her attention on the world outside the window. The rain had stopped. The setting sun was struggling to break through the leftover clouds. The grounds looked drenched and cold.

“Until we figure out how to retrieve the locket off of you without harming it, you are to stay here where I can keep an eye on you.”

Something sparked in Hermione’s chest. Maybe it was the hatred she was feeling, or maybe it was the panic. Maybe, just maybe, it was the locket talking to her.

“A  _ thing _ like you has no time to waste on a  _ mudblood _ such as myself,” Hermione said with a scoff, looking at Voldemort again without even meaning to. “You mean, I’ll stay here where your pawns can keep an eye on me.” 

Voldemort leaned back against the frame of the bed, outstretching his arms the length of the woodwork. His eyes raked over Hermione, how she sat, what her posture told him, how her chest rose and fell. He could read her like a book. His eyes, languidly raking over her like a specimen, finally rested first on her exposed bare leg, and then on her angry honey-colored eyes. 

“Something tells me you don’t usually have this much spark. You must have been a Gryffindor,” he grumbled as he wrinkled his nose with both disgust and amusement. “Do you know what that locket is, Hermione?”

Hermione realized where her hand was and quickly pulled it off of the locket.

“Yes, a horcrux.”

“And do you know what a horcrux is?”

“Of course I do.” She blinked and a sentence rose from the depths of her memory. “A horcrux is an object in which a Dark wizard or witch has hidden a fragment of his or her soul for the purpose of attaining immortality.”

Voldemort slowly nodded his head in agreement. “Precisely. And do you know what happens to a person in possession of another’s horcrux?”

Hermione looked down and realized the skirt of her chemise had fallen to her thigh, baring it. She quickly lowered her leg and sat up with a straight back and touched her feet to the wooden floor.

“I do,” she said, licking her lips and clearing her throat as she nervously clasped her hands together and rested them between her knees. 

Voldemort rose to his feet, looking over at Hermione over his nose, appearing as if he  _ knew _ he was better than her. She was beneath him after all. Just dirt.

“I suggest you cooperate with me as I figure out how to unbind this curse placed on my locket. The easier you make it, the quicker it can be off of you. It’s only a matter of days before it begins to meddle with your pathetic mind,” he said with a vast hatred in his voice, nearly spitting at her feet.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable at the reminder of it all -- of everything.

And with that,Voldemort was gone, out the door, and leaving her to her thoughts.

That time, however, she heard no click of the lock. She was a prisoner of the manor. Her head turned and looked out the window at the fading essence of the setting sun, her heart hammering within her chest, so fast that she feared her whole body would implode from it.  _ From him _ . Fear slithered within her as she wondered how long it would be before Voldemort would get the locket and she’d be dead, how long before Harry and Ron would be found and killed as well.

Her eyes caught sight of something on the bench where Voldemort had been sitting. It was her bag.


	3. Chapter 3

Something pulled Hermione from her sleep in the middle of the night. Everything around her was a silence that couldn’t have done it, but her heart was racing and a burst of energy pulled her into a sitting position as she had the urge to be bold, to be daring, to  _ do something _ . There stood a darkness in her mind urging to do it, whatever it was. Her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, hurrying over to the door that led out to the hallway. She held her breath as she touched the doorknob and tested it in case someone had locked it without her knowing. When the doorknob clicked and the door pulled open, Hermione immersed herself into the hallway.

She let out a breath when she stepped out and found no Death Eaters guarding her door. She looked around the grand carpet flooring, searching for hints at wards. When she found nothing, she relaxed and forced her breathing to turn even as her eyes raised to the end of the hallway where she remembered she’d have to turn to the stairs.

Hermione wasn’t sure what she was doing, or what she was  _ going _ to do. Her feet pulled her into a frenzy, silently down the staircase like a gentle mouse. She didn’t have a plan -- that much she was being honest about with herself. She hadn’t the slightest idea where her wand was. She tried to focus on her ears and instincts. Walking up to the parlor where she saw a faint glow of firelight come from, she drew up a simple enough plan. 

First, she’d sneak up on the first person she’d find, take their wand, and make a run for it. If there would be wards waiting for her outside, she could deal with them. She just needed a wand.

The clock on the mantle in the parlor told Hermione it was nearly four in the morning. Malfoy Manor was so quiet and still, everyone had to either be away on errands or asleep. A shiver ran down her spine thinking of all of the sleeping monsters inside the house. 

Hermione froze, stopping in her tracks the minute she sensed someone else in the room. There, fast asleep in one of the lounge chairs facing the crackling fireplace, Narcissa Malfoy. In the firelight, the bags beneath her eyes were accentuated. Her head rested against the back of the chair in such an awkward way that it was apparent to Hermione that Narcissa had fallen asleep against her will. Narcissa worried tirelessly over her son, no matter how vile of a person Draco was. 

Her mind snapped away from the pity Hermione felt for her and to the edge of Narcissa’s wand that gleamed from between her hips and the side of the chair. Hermione took a step towards the woman to grab the wand when her foot conjured a creak from the floorboard. Her body went still and her eyes widened, her ears aware of any new sounds. Nothing came from Narcissa, who only groaned softly and moved her head into a more proper position for sleep in an armchair. Her hand fell to her side, causing what was in her hand to fall to the floor and open. A locket. Hermione looked away from the small picture of Draco and Lucius that sat in it and quickly grabbed Narcissa’s wand.

Narcissa’s wand sang in her hand. An intense feeling filled her. No, it wasn’t  _ her _ wand, but it would do -- it had to. Her hand gently held to the carefully-crafted wood. A crack in the floorboards beyond the parlor sounded and a Death Eater rubbing sleep from his eyes paused at the archway, his eyes going between the wand in Hermione’s hand and the woman holding it. It took him a moment before Hermione saw the realization reach his eyes.

“ _ Stupefy!” _ Hermione whispered quickly before the Death Eater could draw his wand.

The Death Eater fell backwards. Before he could hit the floor and create anymore unwanted noise, Hermione gasped and hissed, “ _ Leviosa! _ ”

When the Death Eater had been quickly levitated to the floor, she rushed carefully past him and back into the entry hall. Three more Death Eaters came rushing down the stairs, dressed and ready for treachery. She had just begun to feel lucky up until that point. Her eyes widened more as her mind raced for what to do. 

“That wand is not yours!” one Death Eater screamed loud enough to wake the entire damned house.

Suddenly, the entry hall began flashing with colors as the three Death Eaters yelled spells at Hermione, trying to subdue her and get between her and the door leading to the outside world. Quick like a mouse, she dodged them all and blocked when she couldn’t. More Death Eaters were joining and she knew she had to do something. A mixture of the cursed necklace around her neck, the threat she was dealing with, and everything else she had been dealing lately, had left her mind running faster than she could control.

“ _ Expulso! _ ” she casted. The Death Eater she had aimed at instantly exploded as if self combusted, only letting out a strong blue light. The explosion rocked the Death Eaters from around him and blinded them for a moment. 

Everything had gone still for just a moment for Hermione. The realization at what she had just done sunk in and her hand shook as she went to aim the same spell at the closest Death Eater.

Before the exploding spell could hit the next Death Eater, Voldemort apparated between them and casted a shield strong enough to eradicate the spell. “That’s  _ enough _ !” he yelled at Hermione.

Hermione, wide-eyed and fearful of both herself and the very pissed off Dark Lord before her, looked at the wand in her hand and dropped it as if it scorched her skin. 

“Go back to your room  _ now _ ,” Voldemort hissed at her as he pointed at the stairs quickly. 

She blinked at Voldemort, her mind running a thousand miles a minute. Unable to say anything, too shocked and scared at what had just transpired, Hermione obeyed Voldemort. She dodged past him and to the stairs where she hurried straight to her room.

“My lord, she’s  _ powerful _ ,” Hermione heard Narcissa say with a shaky, surprised voice.

The last words she heard before she disappeared into her room, that was so loud that it had been heard through the entire house, was Voldemort yelling dangerously at Narcissa and her carelessness with her own wand considering the situation of Hermione, the captive.

* * *

Hours had passed when Hermione realized she had been unable to find sleep. It was inevitable, she realized, that the shock would keep her from any rest. It was the shock of what she had done, and never thought herself capable of doing. Sure, she had harmed before, caused serious injuries, but never had she killed before. Sitting where she found herself most comfortable in the room, she sat at the window seat, watching the sun come up.

She had already sifted through her bag, remembering the inventory she had taken in before she had taken the bag with her. All but potions were accounted for. Even the books she had stored away inside of it couldn’t ease her mind.

She sensed Voldemort before he even made a noise or said anything. By then, she was beginning to become acquainted with the coldness and darkness that followed him around like a cape, reeking of death and despair. The locket singing in his presence.

“Have you come to scold me?” Hermione asked, her voice vile with cold and sarcasm, “because I’m not in the mood.”

For a moment, he was quiet. “It would be in your best interest never to do that again,” he said first. His voice was calm to start off with, but Hermione wasn’t ignorant to the signs of how calm he was  _ trying _ to be. 

Hermione’s head turned around to glare at the Dark Lord. “I can do as I please. I’m a free-”

“Not when you kill one of my own men!” he said, striding over to her with an angry expression and eyes wide with rage. 

Hermione’s mouth closed, falling silent as she looked up at Voldemort with her lips forced into a thin line, trying not to overstep things anymore than she already had. She wanted to throw back at him the innocence that had been mindlessly lost because of him. What was one Death Eater versus hundreds of people who didn’t deserve death? This was the Dark Lord himself she was dealing with. Why would he see any reason behind her words? All she could do was hold her tongue.

“What were you thinking!” he demanded, slipping away from his serenity he tried for. He stopped just a few feet away from her, glaring down at her. 

If there had been no locket to protect her existence, he would have already killed her right there on the spot. 

Tears pricked at Hermione’s eyes, and she didn’t realize it until her vision blurred with them. Death Eater or not, she felt horrible and terribly sorry for killing him. But where did that come from? Where had she learned that spell? Perhaps she had read it once upon a time, but the fact that she used it on a  _ person _ terrified her. She wiped her eyes and turned her head away, refusing to look at him. Her hands were shaky, and her body shivered though she wasn’t cold. 

“You’ve never killed anyone before?” Voldemort asked her in a breathless voice, his eyebrows risen. He was either surprised or impressed.

“No, and I’m  _ really _ sorry, okay?” she said quickly. 

What if the Death Eater had family, like Lucius had? What if he had a wife he loved unconditionally? What if he had children? Her chest hurt.

Hermione heard his footsteps suddenly, closing in on her until he bent down and his hand latched onto the locket, yanking her forward to look up at him. Instinctual, Hermione reached out and grasped onto his thighs to keep herself from tumbling off of the window seat and into him. Hermione took in a sharp breath, her eyes wide as she looked between his hand and his darkened, steel-like gaze. 

“I want this bloody thing off of you,” he said in a low voice, practically between his locked teeth. “You have far too much power for a mudblood.”

Hermione wanted to sneer at him, she wanted to scoff in his face. He was clearly confused by her and the amount of he power she always had. The locket had nothing to do with it.

Regardless, she wanted it off of herself just as much as he did. It was messing with her mind too much, and to think that she could even  _ kill _ someone… Within the river of hysterics running through her body, she was half-tempted to swear off magic. Maybe she wouldn’t kill another being again if she just...swore off magic all together, but the necklace was stuck on her and she knew deep down, somewhere within the darkness, that it would be no use. Magic was second nature to her. It was the reason she was who she was, despite the dark side of her coming out due to the damned necklace.

_ Trust me, I won’t ever do that again _ , she wanted to tell Voldemort. She wanted to promise him she’d never steal a wand again from one of his people, but who was she to promise something to someone like Voldemort?

He held her like that for a moment, captive as the chain of the locket held taut against the nape of her neck. It dug into her skin, feeling sharp and cold enough to take her mind off of the fact that he held her close to him, in such a suggestive manner. She tried her best not to blush when she caught his eyes slipping down her face to the peak of her nightgown where a clear view of her cleavage stood. Her head held back to continue looking up at him, forgetful of what level her head was at. In the corner of her eyes, she could have sworn she saw movement at front of his expensive trousers. Her fingers, holding tight to his thighs, twitched and something dark, beyond forbidden, and unforgiving stirred within her.

Before her eyes could lower, Tom let go of the locket and pulled away from her, apparating before Hermione could catch herself. The cold wooden floor met with her and she grunted from the sudden collison. She laid there for a moment, taking in everything that had just happened. If she had the balls, she’d say that Tom, no, Voldemort was  _ scared _ of the amount of power she possessed mixed with the power the horcrux had on her mind, body, and will. She pushed herself off of the floor soon after and headed for bed. Whether she’d find sleep again or not, she didn’t care. 

* * *

Hermione was aware she was dreaming the moment that her eyes opened and she found herself covering her eyes from the sudden brightness in the room. On a leather couch, her body laid naked, except for the locket around her neck. The air was warm and comfortable, her eyes focused on the room, clean and minimalistic with walls of books and a large window lined in thick gray curtains, the afternoon sunlight burnished through. 

“ _ You have much power _ ,” she heard something whisper to her. 

Her body stiffened and she looked down at the locket.

“ _ You could use it for so much. So much power...so much… _ ”

She sat up in the couch, looking around. Her vision felt blurry at the edges, like a dream scene right out of a film. Her head felt heavy the minute she sat up and she half-expected dizziness to follow in suit. 

“ _ Your and Tom Riddle’s powers combined….think about it. All the things you two could accomplish together... _ ”

The soft, tiny whispers from the locket felt soothing. It felt like a spell being put on Hermione, a charm. The more it whispered to her, the more she could feel herself being pulled under to its darkness. She could feel herself believing the whispers, regardless of the tiny voice in the back of her mind screaming for her not to listen. 

“ _ Tom is so powerful. He needs your power too. _ ”

Hermione shook her head, as if shaking off a pest, or trying to pull from a spell. She got to her feet, her head still feeling dizzy. She turned around, facing the room from the couch as she tried to think of a way to end the horrible and strange dream. She thought about the cliche pinching or simply telling herself that it was just a dream, that she’d wake up at any moment.

A cold hand rested on her shoulder, and the touch immediately sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the shiver travel throughout her, a tightness gathering at her nipples as the hand slid languidly across her shoulder, down her back, tracing her spine, and around to grip onto her waist. Something about the touch felt right, sparking a desire between her thighs.

“Turn around so I can watch you as I fuck you,” said the voice. It belonged to Voldemort.

“Tom,” she whispered softly.

In a haze, Hermione turned around and the back of her knees found the edge of the couch. She sat down and looked up at Tom, naked and erect. His handsome face, filled with lust, bent down to aim himself between her hips as she found her legs spreading open to him, inviting him in with full consent. Something felt deja vu about it, like it was familiar to her in that moment. She wanted him.

The dream came to an abrupt halt at the sound at a knock on her bedroom door. Her eyes shot open, gasping as she took a grasp at reality and tried to shove the memory of the dream to the back of her mind. She sat up in her bed, a dull ache between her thighs she nearly sneered at as she threw the covers off of her. Before she could get to her feet, the door opened and in came the same house elf from the other day. In his hand was a tray of covered food. After setting it down on her table, he headed for the bathroom where she guessed he’d be drawing her a new bath. 

She had to remind herself to breathe and to forget about the dream and the fact that her and Voldemort…

Her cheeks heated up for just a moment before her mind forced back to the locket and how it spoke to her in her dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite the little accident the morning before, the door to Hermione’s bedroom still wasn’t kept locked, allowing her free roam of the house. Despite it all, Hermione was surprised and skeptical. As soon as she had readied herself for the day, her fingers itched to hold a book and read something new. It was obvious that the manor’s library called out to her. 

Hermione pushed open a door, revealing the grand Malfoy library. She stood at the doorway, unsure if she should even enter or turn back and hide in her bedroom until something new changed. It was the calling the books had to her that kept her feet planted there a moment longer, just enough to set her mind. The library had to be one of the largest rooms in the house, from what Hermione had witnessed as of that moment. Every inch of wall possible, save for a large window, a fireplace, and spaces for lighting, sat captivated by shelves upon shelves of books.  The afternoon sunlight shined strongly between the heavy curtains and for a moment, Hermione felt a sense of deja vu. She kept her mind from the memory of the dream and busied herself with the books. 

Hermione was settled down at the velvet chaise angled before the crackling fireplace, invested in a book she had picked at random, when a darkness loomed over her. It was inevitable that he would go to her again. Hermione looked up at Voldemort, holding her breath as she closed her book. Quickly, she got to her feet before he could even say anything.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be here without perm-”

“I may be the Dark Lord, but who am I to keep a curious soul from books?” he asked in a low voice, smirking coldly at her.

Hermione blinked dumbfoundedly at him, holding the book to her chest. His face held nothing short of nothingness as he looked around the library.

“It is a grand library, is it not?” he asked her then, looking around at the room and the thousands of books it held.

Hermione looked around with him, blinking rapidly as she cleared her throat softly, licked her lips, and nodded her head. She wasn’t sure how she was to feel about the conversation they were having. It had to have been the most calm since their first meeting in the forest. He wasn’t spewing anything hateful at her, he wasn’t threatening her -- nothing, yet.

When Hermione said nothing, Voldemort added, “I honestly didn’t peg a Gryffindor as a reader.”

Hermione looked away, tightening her jaw visibly before she motioned towards him. “You seem to know everything about me already. If you know so much, then why be surprised?”

“Yes, I’ve read your file. Hermione Jean Granger. Born to muggle parents, brightest witch of her age, quite the outstanding student,” he paused as he tilted his head and softly squinted his cold eyes, as if trying to figure out the specimen before him. “Severus Snape filled me in on all I needed to know during our recent meeting back at Hogwarts.”

Hermione then realized she had lost track of how long she had been held captive there at the manor. She wasn’t sure how many days, or weeks. It felt like an eternity. 

“It’s a shame that more times than possible, you bested the likes of pureblood Harry Potter. From what Severus has told me, he wouldn’t be alive to this day without you.”

Hermione felt her body go tense at Voldemort’s mention of her friend’s name. She didn’t like that he gave her all of the credit, considering Ron Weasley had helped out just as much as she did. And just for a moment, her heart ached for her friends she still missed so very terribly.

“You’re a strong witch, Hermione Granger, despite what proves you shouldn’t be. And that intrigues me,” Voldemort went on as he rounded the chaise to face Hermione. “I’m well aware my horcrux has nothing to do with it, but if anything, it’s unlocking your potential.”

When he stopped just a few feet away from her, he reached out and gently pried the book from her arms, looking at the spine and then the cover of it. 

“I too like books,” he said softer then, opening the book and skimming through its pages almost absentmindedly as he changed the subject.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. Her entire body felt as if it were filled with energy. She was restless with him standing there before her, alone, and at his mercy.

“I’ll make sure the dreadful house elf sends over some books I’d like you to read. Maybe you can find something amongst them that will help with this,” he said as he reached out and touched his locket. Accident or not, his thumb gently touched her collar as his fingers traced the chain and then pulled away.

The spot he touched, felt as if it had been lit on fire when he pulled away.

Hermione’s breath hitched and flashes of the dream she had forced through her mind. 

“But enough casual discussion. Expect the books by lunch,” he said as he gave her the book back, nodded once at her, and left her alone.

Instead of apparating away from her, he simply walked out of the room and shut the door behind her. Hermione looked to the clock resting above the fireplace, suddenly finding herself anticipating the books Voldemort spoke of. 

* * *

It was deep within the night when Hermione was abruptly awoken by Narcissa and her wand shining in her face brightly. A horrible storm thundered outside the manor and Hermione, for a moment, wondered how she had even found sleep, and how she had even slept through the loud storm. She got to her feet and managed to grab her robe to cover her body sheathed in just a thin nightgown, rushing with Narcissa out of her bedroom and down the stairs the moment Narcissa had told her that there was  a meeting called and Hermione was to be apart of it. 

The clock struck one in the morning, as Hermione followed Narcissa down the stairs and into the dining room where she found the entire table, save for a chair at Voldemort’s very left, sat filled with Death Eaters. And across from where she was to sit, sat the one horrible soul she had hoped she’d never see after that one day at Hogwarts, Bellatrix Lestrange. The two glared at each other as Hermione ignored the other curious and heated glances from the Death Eaters as she approached her seat.

Voldemort motioned a hand at her seat. “Hermione, sit,” he ordered as the chair swiftly pulled out for her with Voldemort’s magic.

She took the seat and his magic pushed her gently back in to the table. Faint snacks littered the middle of the table, marking that it would be a long meeting. A few Death eaters picked up small crackers and cheese, even meats and fruits onto the small round china plates sitting before each seat.

“What’s this all about?” Hermione asked as she met a glare from Bellatrix again and then looked at the rest of the table, who also shared the same glares at her.

Her whole body vibrated. She felt in danger with the Death Eaters after what had happened days ago, after she had killed one of their men. Tense, she held her hands together beneath the table on her lap and looked over to Voldemort. For some strange, absurd reason, she felt  safer with him there.

“This is about the locket, and you.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed quizzically. 

“After talking it over with my closest council, and my Death Eaters, I have come to a decision for you, Hermione Granger. I’ve called this emergency meeting moreso to announce it to you, as everyone else is aware of it.”

Dread flooded Hermione. A part of her feared he was about to give her a death sentence the moment they all figured out to get the locket off of her, but what he said after that changed her mind entirely.

“In the short amount of time you’ve spent here, and considering all that you’ve accomplished at Hogwarts, and to keep your friend...Harry Potter...safe, I want to give you a choice,” said Voldemort.

Hermione turned and looked at everyone at the table, who all looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

“Hermione, for the exchange of your help getting my horcrux back, I’m offering you a spot as a Death Eater.”

Hermione scoffed, her voice bouncing off the walls of the large room and sounding loud in spite of the silence that hung between the Death Eaters.

“How is that even a choice? Nothing apart of that is anything I would get out of this whole ordeal,” she said, her chest filling anger and rage. “I would rather  _ die  _ from the Cruciatus Curse than serve under you.”

Voldemort looked down at his plate, his lips pursing angrily. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Hermione.”

The locket hissed at her and she found herself saying, “Unless,” before she knew what she was even saying, “one condition.”

Voldemort fidgeted in his chair. “This isn’t a negotiation-” he began, but she rudely interrupted him.

“If you promise to leave my friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley alone after we figure out this locket,” she said as she touched the locket to motion to it, “then I will accept to serve under you.”

The table sounded with Death Eaters fidgeting in their seats next, leaning into whisper with their fellow brethren. 

Voldemort’s lips tilted into a half-smirk, as cold as it was. Hermione saw the impressiveness in it. She surprised him yet again.

“In exchange for your help and you becoming a Death Eater, I will leave your little friends alone, as long as they promise to not interfere with my affairs,” he shot back at her.

Hermione’s chest rose and fell quickly and she leaned away from her chair and towards him with a mirrored cold smirk. The darkness from the locket was speaking to her and she felt so deep into the moment that she nodded her head. Clear as day to the others, she had challenged him and won with a faint twist of his own choice towards the matter.

In Hermione’s hesitation, Voldemort found more room to talk. “Just imagine it Hermione,” he started, as he tilted his head to the side. His voice  masked with emotion that Hermione had difficulty understanding, considering who was talking, “you would be at such a great advantage being one of my Death Eaters. You could have so much power that, who knows,” he paused to shrug and shake his head briefly, “you could do more good than harm.”

Hermione’s eyebrows moved into confliction and it was clear as day for Voldemort to read like a book. He was getting in her head, just like the locket. 

“You could even be powerful enough to keep the ones you care about safe.”

_ He’s right. Every day I unlock your potential more and more. You would be so powerful, you could learn so much from him.  _ She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, trying to force out the locket and its whisperings. 

_ He knows of only half the things you’ve learned from your schooling and your books,  _ whispered the locket _. Think of all the knowledge he has, all that he could pass over to you. For a man to create so many horcruxes and live for this long...just think about it. It’s simple. _

Hermione felt uncomfortable. Not only was she being coerced into something she had dedicated her life to be against, but there was a cursed object stuck around her neck that wouldn’t get out of her head. The more days that passed, the chattier the locket got.

“Deal.”

“Make the unbreakable vow-” Bellatrix said as she jumped at the chance to speak.

Voldemort raised his hand, silencing the woman.

“Tell me, Hermione, have you found anything in those books I’ve given you to read?”

Hermione’s mind went to the pile of books that greeted her at the foot of her bed on the bench when she returned to her rooms just after lunch the day before. She had read them closely, even through dinner when the house elf had to bring her a platter of the food she had missed. She went as far as reading them, while eating, up until she had passed out at the table before the fireplace where her platter of food and books had been. Later that night, when she had woken from the discomfort her position she had been sleeping in had given her, she pulled herself to bed and promised herself more reading the next day.

“Not quite, but,” she started as she looked at the table again before sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest, “The locket was cursed before you even made it into a horcrux, was it not? What if there was someone out there, wanting to get back at you for turning it into a horcrux, who got ahold of it during your time separated, and amplified the curse into something more twisted, like being stuck around my neck as a form of torture should anyone else want to get ahold of it?” Hermione questioned more herself than Voldemort. Her eyes fell to the food as she spoke, the gears working and turning quickly within in her mind. “It would have to have been a specific curse, perhaps one  _ someone _ even made? What if it was even doused in poison?”

Voldemort softly nodded his head, his jaw tightened visibly as his face crowded with the look of thoughtfulness. Deep within his thoughts, it was clear Hermione had made complete sense to him.

“I had considered that,” Voldemort murmured to her after a moment.

“My Lord, if I may,” said a Death Eater from the other end of the table. All attention turned to him. “Perhaps there is someone out there who could be of help on this matter?”

Voldemort nodded his head again. Silence hung in the dining room for a moment.

“I  want a group to head to the ministry. Dig up whatever you can possibly find on anyone that would specialize in special curses and poisons. If there is anyone out there who would help on this matter, I want to find them as soon as possible,” Voldemort ordered.

He turned to Hermione next and sighed. He seemed tired. “Go get some rest. Read up more until I find out if there is anyone. I’ll come to you when I do,” he ordered her as he leaned back in his chair and put his temple into his fingers and massaged it as if annoyed.

Hermione said nothing and got up, immediately walked out and into the entry hall where she heard something that caught her eye. Where she had last found her, Narcissa sat before the fireplace in the parlor. 

Hermione felt inclined to do something. She walked over, announcing he presence with a clear of her throat that caught Narcissa’s attention. Sitting in the same chair as before, Narcissa was wide awake, her hands trifling with knitting needles and charcoal wool yarn. 

Narcissa made no notion that told Hermione she realized she was there until she spoke. “Silly little muggle things, knitting needles. I suppose you can easily charm them to do the knitting for you, but doing it yourself is so therapeutic,” she said softly. 

Hermione walked over until she sat down in the empty lounge chair right next to Narcissa. “Mrs Malfoy,” she began.

Narcissa sat her needles down and waved at Hermione. “Just call me Narcissa, dear. It’s clear we’re past that,” she said as she turned her head and look at Hermione calmly.

Hermione licked her lips. “Narcissa,” she tested before she cleared her throat, “I wanted to apologize about the other night.”

Narcissa immediately began shaking her head. “You did what any of us would have done if we had the choice, and I was, indeed, reckless with my wand. There is nothing to apologize for,” she said softly.

Hermione nodded her head, understanding completely.

“Now go back to bed. There’s much to prepare for,” she then said. Her voice held that of a mother’s and Hermione felt more relaxed in that moment.

So relaxed, that it allowed her to find sleep once more as soon as she had curled back up in her bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks passed by slowly at Malfoy Manor since the meeting. Hermione had buried her nose in the books provided by Voldemort, even being thankful when he had sent her more. Some evenings, she would have dinner with Voldemort and whoever else was present at the household during dinner. The only words exchanged between them all were the findings Hermione had come upon in the books, ideas and sparks of her imagination that might even prove to be useful. The more she read, the more she began fearing the worse -- that it wasn’t a curse, but a poison, which if personally invented, could even be worse than curses. Especially on an item already cursed to begin with, let alone created into a horcrux.

It had been weeks since Hermione was able to relax enough, as she sat within a steaming hot bath to battle the weather outside the walls that caused the house to fall colder and colder every day despite the warmth charms and the lit fireplaces in each room.

Her eyes had been closed, trying to forget about all her worries for just a moment, until her eyes opened and found Voldemort leaning against the doorway to the bathroom. The intrusion caused her to gasp, covering herself with her arms as she turned her body to be as hidden as possible behind the walls of the bathtub.

“What do you want?” she asked, defense in her voice.

Voldemort smirked at her defense and pushed off of the doorframe, walking into the bathroom with his hands buried within his pockets casually. He had heard he’d been at Hogwarts, overseeing the teachings and meeting with the teachers and so forth. She didn’t expect him to be back so soon.

He wore his usual expensive slacks and a crisp white oxford opened to the top of his chest hair. The sleeves were rolled up carefully to his elbows. He hadn’t been home long enough to change into something more comfortable, but perhaps he needed to tell Hermione something important.

“I’ve come to tell you the news I’ve discovered from some of my Death Eaters today,” he said as he motioned his head at Hermione. “We’ve found someone.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.” She took a moment and looked around the bathroom. “You couldn’t wait to tell me?”

“No. We also have to have a discussion about our deal,” said Voldemort casually.

Hermione’s eyebrows moved into a furrow.

“You are going with me to meet this man who seems promising on procuring an antidote for the locket. And after that, if your worth has been proven thoroughly, you will join as a Death Eater. And I won’t harm Harry nor Ron so long as they don’t get in my way.

Hermione rushed out of the bathtub, the water dripping off of her and her eyes seeing red. The rage and anger had hit her so hard, she didn’t know what was truly happening.

“You promised me you wouldn’t hurt them at all,” she hissed at him in a rageful tone of voice.

Voldemort’s eye instantly dropped to glance at her naked, wet body, smirking intently when his eyes reached her eyes again. He tilted his head to the side and looked at her calmly. “I made no such promise. No unbreakable vow has been made. I can choose to change the deal however I please. Be thankful I’m offering them a chance, and that I give you a chance to live after I get what’s mine back.”

Hermione huffed at him. “How dare you! They are my friends! I owe them that much!”

“Hermione, let me give you some advice,” he said in a patronizing tone filled with coldness. “Never attach yourself to someone, or anyone for that matter. For this very specific reason. You don’t owe anyone anything. If you don’t take this offer, I might not even let them live at all.”

_ Look at you, naked and wet before him. You’re practically asking him to lose it, _ the locket whispered.

Hermione blinked, frowning as the coldness of the bathroom finally licked at her skin and she realized she was standing stark naked in front of the Dark Lord himself. She wrapped her arms around herself and huffed again, feeling completely embarrassed. 

“Don’t do that,” Voldemort said as he grabbed her arms and pried them from covering herself. 

“After feeding you, you look more alive than you did in the forest. Your body is truly exquisite.”

Yes, when Voldemort found her, she was starving with sunken in skin and bones protruding here and there. After being on a steady and proper diet, she did physically feel better, but that had been besides the point.

Before Hermione could open up her mouth and say anything, Voldemort closed the distance between them quickly, wrapping his arms around her as he bent down, picking her up by the back of her thighs. Hermione yelped from the contact, shocked at what he was doing. The wetness on her skin left over from the bath became absorbed by his clothing and her arms wrapped around him for just a brief moment to steady herself off of her feet until he rested her down on the countertop beside the sink. Her heart hammered inside her chest and she wasn’t even sure what to say and do as her mind tried to wrap around everything.

Voldemort stood between her legs, resting his hands on her naked thighs. She shivered when her eyes caught sight of his hand reaching up to touch her. It landed at her collarbone, tracing the smooth, warm, wet flesh stretched across her collar. Her breath froze and she looked back up at Voldemort, who watched his own hand intently.

“What are you doing?” Hermione murmured.

“I can’t remember the last time I've  been with a woman. It must have been years. One truly gets lonely after so long,” he said absentmindedly. 

Needing to breathe, she let out a deep breath, which escaped her shakily. His hand roamed down slowly to the space just above where her breasts began, causing her to shiver violently when his hand finally reached her left nipple. She sat there, too terrified to move, and too shocked at the sudden connection of his cold hand with a sensitive part of her. 

Voldemort moved in and before her mind could even register anything beyond that, he was kissing her hungrily. Their lips moved together, despite what a part of her wanted. There was the other part that made her react positively to what he was doing to her. Her hands held her firmly to the counter, gripping the edge as his hand let go of her thigh and touched with her other breast. As his fingers moved to gently pinch the hardened buds, his teeth caught her bottom lip in between his and an uncontrollable moan escaped her.

A tingle traveled down from her breasts to the spot between her thighs. It was something she hadn’t felt in a long time, not since she and Ron...

_ No, don’t think about him right now, _ she told herself as her mind instantly switched to Voldemort and kissing him. His lips were smooth and soft, soon parting to pry his tongue between her lips. Languidly, her lips parted and she tangled her tongue with his. 

Despite having been able to bury herself within the books he provided her with, there had still been moments when she looked back on the first dream she had of Voldemort. The same ache she had in that dream was there, the ache where she needed him inside of her, fucking her.

His hand left her breast and dipped below, between her legs. She tore herself from the kiss to let out a moan that was so loud, it bounced off the tiled walls the minute his skilled hands found her wetness and he slid a finger down her fold. 

“How amusing,” he murmured to her. 

Hermione found herself leaning backwards to open her legs wider for him, for better access. As she did, he entered two fingers into her opening and she threw her head back. Her eyes closed and her lips parted.

“Hermione Granger, former Order of the Phoenix, wet for the Dark Lord,” Voldemort said aloud with amusement, but an edge of huskiness set within. “You continue to surprise me,” he said in a deeper voice into her ear, nipping at her lobe. 

He teased a finger at her opening for a moment, testing her sensitivity, which was greater than either of them expected. Just when a whimper sounded from deep within her throat, he inserted two digits into her wet and warm opening, freezing for a moment to comment further on the darkened Gryffindor naked before him.

Through her heavily hooded eyes, she managed to catch sight of the desire within Voldemort’s eyes. Sure, the times she shared with Ron in the tent were quick and primitive, but what she saw before her was something entirely new to her. Never had a man such as Voldemort given her that kind of look before. Never had she felt this entirely wanted, by just looking at someone deep within their eyes.

The darkness in Hermione, imbedded in her brain from the locket that whispered to her, held her curious and bold. Would he fuck her in that moment? Did he truly want her? What was he even capable of doing to her? Pushing off of her hands, she reached forwards and hooked her fingers into the waistband of Voldemort’s pants. She breathed heavily and managed a small sexual, wanton noise as he began moving his fingers, in and out, testing her tightness and just how deep he could really go. 

“You’re no virgin,” he murmured to her as he looked down at her hands that still held firmly to his waistband. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked her next as he picked up the pace.

“What do you  _ think _ I’m doing?” she huskilly whispered, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes.

A short sound left Voldemort, nearly resembling a laugh or a snicker. She was entertaining to him and shamelessly, Hermione liked it. She couldn’t even help it.

Hermione worked at his button, and then the zipper, but she was found it more difficult to focus when he extended his thumb to her throbbing clit and maximized the pleasure for her in that moment. He worked his fingers in and out of her, and his thumb mercilessly worked circles of pleasure against her clit. It wasn’t long before she could feel the beginning of her impending orgasm begin to build. 

“N-not so fast,” she breathed out, her eyes still heavily lidded, her lips parted as she breathed in and out heavily, and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and pleasure. 

Before she could even reach into his underwear and wrap her hand around his waiting cock, which throbbed against its tented garments. The minute she finished unzipping his pants, her orgasm exploded and she had to draw her hand away to hold onto the edge of the counter before she’d fall off of it from the impact. He worked her through her orgasm until she began jolting from the post-orgasm sensitivity. Only then did he stop and move his hand away.

Casually, he stepped over to the sink beside her and washed his hands, before drying them off on the clean towel next to it and fixing his pants. 

“But-” she began when she motioned a hand towards his obvious bulge when he finished buttoning it back together.   


She wasn’t one to leave anyone unfinished, and it was clear she made him have  _ quite _ the reaction. Her orgasm might have left her light as a feather, filled with a buzz of serenity and calmness, but there was still the need to fix her curiosity. What kind of person was he when he’d cum? Would he be loud? Vocal? Quiet? Shy?

He shook his head, knowing. “Another time, Hermione.”


	6. Chapter 6

Voldemort had disappeared from Malfoy Manor for weeks, it seemed. The house itself felt emptier than normal, with Death Eaters out and about, doing whatever it was that they did. Even Bellatrix was gone. A few Death Eaters hung around, eating up all the food, sleeping, and relaxing all that they could before their master would return to them with more news and orders to bark. 

The night that Hermione had stolen Narcissa’s wand had been long-forgotten, as far as Narcissa went. She was sweet to Hermione, despite their differences. She was the first to let Hermione know about meals when they were ready, she offered Hermione to accompany her around the gardens behind the manor for some fresh air, and she had been all around kind to Hermione.

Maybe she was lonely without her husband and son, or anyone to talk to for that matter. Voldemort wasn’t just someone anyone could go up to and talk with afterall. It was obvious that Hermione had been a breath of fresh air to Narcissa, someone to mother and someone to be natural with.

There were moments Hermione thought back to her parents, and how she missed them dearly. She wondered if one day, she’d be able to help them find the memories of her she took. In those moments, she would shed a few tears and feel sorry for herself, but then the locket would whisper to her, to tell her things that made her forget her sorrow towards them. 

The gardens of the manor were large and beautiful. Narcissa kept up bushes upon bushes of roses, finding peace in tending to its greenery the muggle way rather than any magical way. She could have even ordered their housekeeper to see to it all, but Hermione had an inkling that Narcissa enjoyed the time it soaked up before  she’d see her family again. 

Hermione was just coming in from giving Narcissa some company in the gardens when a figure waited for her at the door she’d need to pass through to get inside. Fall was nearly over, and winter was close at hand. The days grew colder and Hermione shivered as she glared up at the waiting Death Eater.

“Excuse me, may I pass?” she asked him bitterly between clenched teeth. 

The Death Eater snickered and glared at her, flashing her yellow, rotten, jagged teeth. It made her stomach churn and she went to push past him when he outstretched a hand to block her way, claiming the other side of the doorway.

“Not in a million years, mudblood,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. 

_ How rude. _

She recognized the Death Eater. He had been one of the ones she had dueled what had felt weeks ago when she attempted her escape. He was the man she would have killed had Voldemort not intervened with her plans. He was also one of the men that Voldemort ordered around first-handedly. He was one of the most trusted ones.

Commotion sounded behind the Death Eater and Hermione glanced over his shoulder for a moment to clue in on what was going on. Death Eaters were returning from their missions and orders. They were returning to relax, to eat, and to sleep. Up ahead, by the parlor, she caught glance at the silvery white hair of Lucius and for a moment, Hermione thought about how happy Narcissa would be to find her husband home safe and sound, regardless of how sickly he looked from just far away to Hermione.

“Your little savior isn’t here to help you this time. And you don’t have a wand to protect you either,” said the Death Eater in a low, guttural voice filled with malice and cold chuckles.

“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to my friend. You know, the one you  _ killed _ the other night?”

Hermione cringed with every word the Death Eater spoke to her. Fear climbed her spine like a ladder and she feared of what would happen soon enough. For a moment, she thought about turning around and bolting for Narcissa, but if the Death Eater was as smart as Voldemort thought him to be, he’d have her charmed in no time just to keep her quiet and still for whatever he wanted to do to her.

_ He should die _ , whispered the locket.  _ How dare he threaten you. _

Hermione was so focused on the angered brown eyes of the Death Eater towering above her that she hadn’t caught site, nor felt Voldemort’s presence when he nearly sprinted through the opening to the parlor, eyed them, raised his wand, and waved it at the Death Eater.

Hermione gasped as the Death Eater flung away from her and harshly into the nearby wall. 

“Seems like someone must have forgotten their place,” said Voldemort lividly. He continued to aim his wand at the man, his jaw visibly tightening with frustration and contemplation.

She half expected him to the kill the Death Eater right then and there.

“If you ever touch Hermione Granger, I will make sure you are served something far worse than death itself, Edric.”

“Yes, my lord. Please forgive me, my lord!” begged the Death Eater.

“You are to go back to the Ministry and clean up what you and the rest of your group have completely fucked up. The idea was to take over the Ministry, not make a mess of it..”

The Death Eater scurried off and breathed heavily before apparating away.

Voldemort lowered his hand and neatly tucked his wand back into the pocket of his trousers, smoothing a hand over his hair before looking over at Hermione. She wasn’t sure if he’d say anything to her, but he didn’t. He simply looked away from her and headed out of the room to the stairs where he calmly ascended up to his room.

Hermione let out a breath.

“Hermione? Are you alright?” came Narcissa from behind her, followed by a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Narcissa?” came Lucius’s voice.

Hermione hurried into the warmth of the house, letting Narcissa trail behind her before she dashed passed her and over to her husband.

Hermione leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest as she let out a soft sigh, thinking over what had happened with the Death Eater, Edric. Could some of the other Death Eaters feel the same about her? Could she be in danger if left alone with them? She shivered at the thought of what they could do to her. There were plenty of things that would be of torture to her, but not the locket. 

* * *

Hermione didn’t see Voldemort for the rest of the day. She remained down on the first floor with the others up until dinner time, being reintroduced to Lucius, and finding him to have a completely new outlook on her since the last time they were introduced. Last time he had been cold and ruthless towards her and her heritage, but that evening, he had nothing but the utmost respect for her.

When Hermione decided it had been time to retire to her rooms for the night, to bathe and to head off early to bed that night, she moved her feet slowly and lazily up the staircase only to pause in the middle when her ears began to pick up a very angry Voldemort and a few other voices angrily talking back at him.

“...what do you  _ mean _ he’s disappeared? How does one lose sight of someone like that?” Voldemort asked. His voice was fuming with an anger that made something in Hermione’s stomach curl up. Her heart rate rose and she gulped thickly.

At the top of the steps, Voldemort’s door was left wide open, showing two Death Eaters standing before Voldemort. Voldemort stood before them with disheveled hair, wide and maddened eyes, and a very accusing finger pointed at them.

“I made this your job so you could find him. He might be our only hope at this point!”

“That looney of a buffoon Fudge never gave two shits about him, he was only registered with his wand under his diploma from Hogwarts!” argued one Death Eater.

“This ain’t our fault, my lord! We scoured the whole bloody place, and that is all we could find!”

_ He’s upset. He’s so tense, so stressed, so angry. All that pent up frustration...you could make him feel good. There would be no doubt he’d make you feel good as well _ , whispered the locket.

Hermione rested herself against the doorway to the room. 

Voldemort plopped down on the bench resting at the foot of his bed, like the one in her room. He buried his face in his hand to massage the bridge of his nose before his head shot up and glared at Hermione.

Hermione crossed her arms and tilted her head, gazing over at Voldemort with a blank expression. 

Voldemort huffed and looked at the Death Eaters one last time. “Track down the Aurors. See if they know anything about him. And if they don’t, then you’re going to inquire by any means, whether it be capture or torture. Find any leads. If you don’t return with news of his location, then you would be wise to never return again,” he ordered between clenched teeth. “Now  _ leave _ ,” he warned.

The Death Eaters grumbled with whitened faces, pushing past Hermione as she remained there, glancing at the Dark Lord.

“What do you bloody want?” he barked at her.

Hermione crossed the threshold. The fireplace was lit brightly, lighting up the dark room and the very upset Dark Lord that remained hunched over and pouting at his bench. 

She shut the door behind her and locked it.

He blinked at her and his face faintly turned into curiosity as his eyes remained glued to her as she crossed the distance between them calmly and slowly. She paused halfway in, kicking off her shoes and pulling down her stockings to free her bare legs and feet. She was left in just her bra and dress then.

The gears visibly turned within Voldemort’s mind. He pieced together what was going on quite quickly.

Hermione closed the distance, climbing to sit astride him on his lap. He obliged her as he closed his legs closer together to make it easier for her and held onto her waist. Hermione looked down at him with calm eyes and there, sitting astride Voldemort’s lap, she could practically smell the anger and the frustration bleeding from his pores. The locket was right.

“When was the last time you felt a women’s flesh around you?” Hermione asked him.

Her head was turning fuzzy. A darkness spread throughout it as she put her hands on his chest and continued to stare deep into his cold eyes as she began to move her hips. She curled her feet back against the edge of the bench for leverage as she gyrated her hips against him in a slow, teasing, and languid motion. Her bare pussy pressed against his hardness confined beneath his pants and underwear. 

Voldemort grunted as his hands tightened around Hermione’s waist almost to a bruising point

Hermione reached before her and began unbuttoning her dress, which was a casual charcoal piece that only remained on her from the buttons. She kept her back straight and her hips continued to move at a steady pace as her hands worked their way down her dress until it hung down on her shoulders, open and exposing her bra-clad breasts. His eyes slipped from hers and down to her body.

She felt his hardness throb against her and she couldn’t hide the malicious smile that stretched across her lips.

_ Do you understand how badly he clearly wants you? There’s no turning back now. He’s yours for the taking, and you are his,  _ tempted the locket.

Her own excitement shown as her nipples tightened into hard beads that pressed against the soft fabric of her bra. The fabric of his pants felt rough against her bare pussy, but it was his hardness and the way he was reacting that made her soaking wet. She was probably ruining his pants. 

Her pussy ached for him to fill her. She knew that much when he pulled the fabric of her bra down just enough to pop a breast free. His head lowered and his teeth caught a nipple. She arched her back and picked up her grinding pace, mewling for him. 

“When was the last time you fucked a woman, Tom?” Hermione asked, his proper name slipping from her lips in a threat of wanton.

That made Voldemort growl against her breast. His hands reached between them and quickly undid his pants. Hermione scoffed at him and held herself still and hovering above him for a moment so that he would have room to push his pants and his underwear down his legs.

“It’s been a long time,” he said in a strained voice.

Hermione looked down at his freed member and felt her pussy throb at the size of his perfect cock, hard and fully erect. Precum glistened against the firelight at his tip and she licked her lips, wrapping a hand around his cock to get a full feel of it before she’d fuck him.

His cock jolted in her hand, and she could feel it pulsating for her. It had indeed been a long time, and she could tell that even then, the Dark Lord was holding back from even remotely thinking about cumming then and there. They had a long night ahead of them and they were just getting started.

Angling herself, Hermione pulled his cock towards her slightly and pressed it firmly against her slit. Her warmth and wetness touched the side of his cock and she began to move her hips in a new motion. Sliding up and down him as he flung his head back and bobbed his adam’s apple. 

“Does that feel good, Tom?” Hermione asked him as she continued to slide her wet, smooth pussy up and down the lengths of his aching member. He was smooth and warm against her and she relished every time her clit dragged up and down him.

If she would have let herself, she could have continued until she came, but Voldemort had other plans, which was what she had been hoping for.

He yanked her hands away from them, holding them tight at her wrists behind her back as he used his other hand to grab his member, aim it at her opening, and push himself within her. He used the force he had on her wrists to push her down onto him to meet with him.

His head moved forward and he rested his forehead against her collarbone, moaning as he filled her up to the brim. The lengths of him, buried deep within her, felt perfect. She wasn’t sure if it was all the hormones mixed with  the stress, worry, and fear she had experienced since leaving Hogwarts that was making her so unbelievably horny, or if it was because of the simple truth: Voldemort had an amazing dick.

Tom held her there for a moment, the both of them still with nothing but heavy breaths and the crackling of the fireplace to sound in the room. Their skins  warm and soft against one another, but this wasn’t the perfect position.

Tom let go of her wrists and latched onto her thighs. Gingerly, he picked her up, standing up straight to turn around the bench and throw her onto his bed. Hermione reached behind her and unclasped her bra, throwing it away from them as Tom stood before her, looking down at her body as his cock bobbed in the air and he completely stripped himself down naked. His body was porcelain perfection in the firelight. He wasn’t muscular, but faint abs stood chiseled into him, and his body was lean and stiff. Faint dark hairs covered his chest like pepper with a matching patch at his stomach that trailed down to his pubic area.

He crawled onto the bed, moving to hover above her as he grabbed a breast and slid between her parted thighs. It was simple for him to sink back into her, her wetness guiding him home. As her legs lifted to wrap around him, his thrusts began and the pleasure from it was almost too much for Hermione. 

Tom sucked on one of her breasts, a hand fondling the other one as his free hand rested against the mattress by Hermione’s head to keep him hovering above her. It was just enough to give himself space to pay attention to her perfect, perky breasts.

Hermione’s head shook, her eyebrows pulled up together as she cried out from the pleasure.  _ This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening _ , she thought as she settled her head at the side where her eyes squeezed shut and noise after noise left her and bounced off of the walls. His hips picked up a fast pace and Hermione swore to any higher being listening.

A slapping sound sounded at her ears as Tom fucked her rough and fast. The sounds of his balls, his own groin meeting her pussy and her ass gave proof of his greed towards the little lioness. He left her breasts alone to move so he could rest on his knees and grab her hips to meet up with him, lifted off of the mattress.

“I’m going to make you cum, Hermione Granger,” Tom said to her, as if it were a threat.

Yes, he most definitely was. The pleasure continued to grow and grow, rising above the clouds of bliss. She was soaking wet for him and he was so hard for her. 

_ If you don’t make him cum first _ , said the locket.

“You better cum,” he said through clenched teeth.

And she did. Screaming, crying, her orgasm built up so far that she felt her head spin as it burst within her core. Her walls quaked violently around him, urging him to lose his full control up to the point he couldn’t help himself and they shared an orgasm. 

Immediately, Tom collapsed on top of Hermione. A strange feeling came upon her during the brief moment she felt Tom’s body crushed against hers. He wasn’t heavy enough to cut off air, or crush her entirely. He then rolled off of her, slipping out of her in the process. 

Taking in what had just happened, Hermione managed to get to her feet, despite how shakey her limbs felt. She hurried off to the bathroom just to the left of the the wall where the bed sat up against. She turned on the light, took in the simplicity of the space, and found a cloth to wet. After relieving herself, she cleaned herself up, so entirely exhausted she wasn’t even sure if she’d make it to her room. 

Tom went into the bathroom after her and she collapsed onto the bed, still naked. She would just take a few moments to rest, gather herself, and re-dress to head to her own room for sleep.

When Tom came out of the bathroom, he paused in the doorway, dressed in clean pajama pants to find Hermione fast asleep in the corner of his bed.

Sighing, he stared at her for a moment, eyeing her tangled lions mane that surrounded her head and sat softly over her bare shoulders, her perked breasts as they rose and fell with her breath, his locket sitting safely on her neck, and the peacefulness in her face. Sneering at her then, he rolled his eyes and curled up onto his normal side of the bed, which happened to be the side Hermione had left empty.

Deep within the night, a loud knocking yanked Hermione from deep sleep. Left disoriented, her ears were the first to register what was going on. A Death Eater had burst into the room, rambling on about Voldemort.

“...we found him, my lord!” exclaimed the Death Eater.

Voldemort wasn’t bothered about being pulled from his sleep, but he was bothered when he realized Hermione wasn’t entirely covered. She felt the thick, fluffy duvet cover brush over her exposed breasts and she groaned, turning over and away from the excited Death Eater. The duvet was comfortable and warm and she wanted to find sleep again, but her body went stiff when her body connected with warm flesh -- Voldemort’s. 

“We’ll discuss preparations at breakfast,” said Voldemort. His voice vibrated through him and against Hermione. 

Before she could think of turning away from him, sleep pulled her under swiftly. It was too late.


	7. Chapter 7

She thought she was dreaming. She could feel it, the cloud beneath her she floated upon, the feeling of bliss and peace clouding her entire body. Her body was tingling with faint pleasure, soft feathers toying with her exposed nipples. A nip at one of them woke her up immediately, trying to make sense of what was happening.

The room she was in was dark, but faint, early morning sunlight peered from behind the thick curtains. In the twilight, it was just enough to make out the outline of Tom curled over half of her. She came face to face with the top of his head, making out the wavy dark hair of his and taking in the feeling of his mouth sucking pleasantly on her breast. His other hand roamed her body beneath the covers. His rough, warm hand touched her stomach, her waist, her ribs, traveling further and further…

Hermione was breathing heavily, feeling wetness pool between her thighs. Before she could even recognize what she truly wanted in that moment, it happened. Tom’s hand that roamed her naked flesh delved between her thighs and cupped her sex. A soft moan escaped her as he ran a finger down her slit, testing her wetness.

In the haze of sleep she had recently surfaced from, her body moved to Tom’s will as he urged her onto her stomach. She was most comfortable like that, and when she felt him climb on top of her, her mind registered what exactly Tom was trying to do to her. 

His cock twitched against her ass before he spread her thighs and bucked roughly into her opening. Hermione buried her face into the pillow beneath her and let out a loud noise from the suddenness. He didn’t need to say anything, and neither did she. She laid there, soaking up all the pleasure he was giving her, as he filled her up, and fucked her roughly. The bed creaked and groaned beneath the roughness and her hands gripped at the fitted sheets as he continued mercilessly. She heard his low, throaty moans every now and then.

“Can you come like this, Hermione?” Tom asked her in a strained voice as he slowed down for a moment, holding himself back to continue longer.

The pleasure deep within her, she wasn’t sure. She shook her head and he pulled out from her, which earned a whimper from the loss of contact. He urged her up on all fours as he raised himself onto his knees. He pushed himself into her once more and she moaned, turning her head around slightly, just enough to catch the look of arousal and bliss on Voldemort’s face as he fucked her harder than he had before on her stomach. He reached out a hand and twisted her hair into something short of a handle, to hold onto and yank on softly. 

She held strong for him, stiff and easy to bounce back to as the hand that anchored himself reached around and found her engorged, begging clit. His skilled fingers already knew how to rub her the right way, at the right angle, and the right pace to slowly eb her towards that sweet release.

“You better fucking come for me,” he said to her in a rough, merciless voice.

The longer it took for her to reach that orgasm, the harder he fucked her until her body shook as she came undone below him. She cried out as the orgasm washed over her in waves and her walls quaked, swallowing Tom’s throbbing hardness down and down until he too came. 

He pulled out of her with a groan and rolled onto his back, leaving Hermione to collapse onto the forgiving bed. A few breaths and peaceful sleep found Hermione once more. She felt the bed shift beside her as she did so, feeling his warmth nearby. She oddly remembered the feeling of a blanket being placed back on top of her before she had fully rendered unconscious.

Hermione’s eyes squinted as bright light pulled her from the depths of her peaceful sleep. She shielded them until they adjusted, taking in the early morning light that shone through the windows as Tom pulled apart the curtains. Perhaps he did it on purpose, to wake Hermione up deliberately. He succeeded in doing so, because she groaned and turned her back to light as she rubbed at her eyes and stared at the door, recalling the past events with a soft sigh. The cold morning hit her bare skin and she pulled them up and over her. 

Tom hurried to her side of the bed to stop her from getting comfortable again, threatening to go back to sleep. “You slept so soundly. You clearly needed it, but I’m glad you’re awake now. Get dressed. We have breakfast to attend to,” he said as his hand froze and then grabbed the edges of the blankets covering her naked body. 

The blankets left her completely, the cold air hitting her body like a full-fledged slap that immediately caused little bumps to run over her body and a shiver to travel down her spine. She shifted and stretched slightly as she looked up at the Dark Lord. Tom reached out and caught a breast in his hand, gripping it softly with possession.

Something within Hermione stirred and she rubbed her eyes once more to try and wake herself up further. She looked down at his hand, her breath hitching in her throat.

“I’d fuck you again. I’d fuck you all day. But we have matters that are more important right now,” he said in a low voice as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from her. “Get a bath and be down in the dining room for breakfast at ten o’clock,” he ordered to her as he turned his back on her and left the room.

When Hermione was bathed and dressed in clothes for the day ahead of her, she hastily made it to the dining room precisely a minute before ten. The atmosphere was thick and heavy with coffee and bacon. Toast waited with silver bowls of orange and blackberry marmalade beside them. Her stomach grumbled and for the first time since she had arrived at Malfoy Manor, she was hungry and she knew she’d eat well. After all, she had a long, tiring night. 

“Right over here, Hermione,” Narcissa said from the end of the table where she sat next to her Husband, who looked just as tired as he looked when he had arrived back from whatever he had been doing. 

Hermione glanced to the chair next to Narcissa, which sat on the left side of Voldemort’s usual chair at the very end and just as last time, directly across from Bellatrix. Bellatrix sat frowning at a piece of toast she was smothering in marmalade. Tom was just sitting down in his chair with a cup of coffee floating down with magic to the table top in front of him and a plate he had already fixed for himself of a majority of the food displayed at the table. 

Hermione sunk down into her chair quietly, noting the soreness that followed when the chair scooted her in towards the table properly. 

“I know breakfast has just begun, but let’s discuss why we’re all here together,” said Tom as he began to butter his toast. He glanced at Hermione briefly and then at the rest of the table. “We’ve finally discovered the location of the Dark Wizard we’ve been hunting, the one who is perhaps our only chance at getting the damn locket back and uncursed.”

The room stood silent as everyone did their best to respect their Lord. Questions and thoughts covered each and every Death Eater’s face as Hermione surveyed them all. A few had already begun to eat, others were paused in the middle of scooping food onto their plates.

Tom rested his toast down onto his plate and clasped his hands together up at his mouth as his elbows rested on the table on either side of his plate. “I want us to be diligent. A chosen group will stay at arm’s length to ensure protection should anything happen, or should we run into anything. The Order is never far behind us. There will always be a chance they can come upon us, which is why we must be quick. The countercurse could be anything, which is why we must pack and dress appropriately. Hermione will compile a list of things we will bring with us. We’re to leave tomorrow at first twilight.”

Everyone nodded their heads, looking at one another. At the sight of Tom digging into his breakfast, everyone broke off into their whisperings and their own breakfasts. Hermione looked over at Narcissa and caught eye of Lucius's hand faintly resting to purposely touch his wife’s. They were gazing at one another and Hermione felt something deep inside her heart pang.

_ Look at them _ , whispered the locket.  _ They’re so in love, despite all that has been happening, and all they’ve been put through. They’re strong. You can be strong too, Hermione. So strong and powerful… _

She turned her attention to Tom, watching him eat his food with a blank face. When he caught her staring, she turned her attention away from him and down at the food before her.


	8. Chapter 8

Calum Adrekis was a Dark Wizard who was schooled at Hogwarts under the House Slytherin. He was strong with potions and for a short while, worked for the Ministry of Magic specializing in curses, poisons, and antidotes before one day, he mysteriously vanished without a single trace. At least, that’s what Calum had thought. Close friends had kept tabs with him, though as secretly as they tried. 

Present day, Calum lived on a remote part of Norway with nothing but miles of empty forests surrounding him. No one to bother him, not even any Ministry of Magic, even though Hermione was aware Fudge would practically shit his pants if he found where Calum was, and that he was very much still alive.

The cabin was small and worn down. Deer pelts and rabbit fur hung drying from the little front porch of the home. The forest’s floor stood forever cluttered in dead leaves. There was nothing more peaceful than a cabin the middle of the woods, to Hermione. It had taken them what felt like a while to get to Norway, apparating for long periods of time, with short breaks in between to sleep overnight on a little boat traveling towards Norway. When they were close enough, Tom side-along apparated with Hermione, who was still exhausted from apparating the day before to the small town that was said to be the closest to Calum. It was mid-day when they trekked through the forests with only the local’s help in directing them to Calum’s home. They were dressed comfortably in light hiking gear with nothing but Hermione’s small purse at her side that held everything she could list for them to possibly need on the trek. A tent to pop up, books, potion ingredients, her own first-aid kit, clothes, and so much more. The extension charm impressed Tom when he found out that was how Hermione traveled anymore, even more impressed when she told him she had learned it at an early age at Hogwarts.

Hermione’s breath ghosted before her as her heavy breath fell in sync with the sound of crushing leaves beneath their boots. Hermione wore loose, comfortable pants tucked into calf-high leather boots. To battle the coldness of Norway that day, and the snow softly beginning to fall from the sky, she dressed in a waterproof coat and a beanie she always had with her kept her head warm and protected as her thick hair hung from beneath it. Tom, on the other hand, wore a similar coat, boots, and pants, but had no hat on himself. His hands were covered in gloves and a scarf hung from around his neck. 

Calum hobbled out the front door of his cabin the moment the two had breached the perimeter. The Death Eaters acting as protectors remained at a safe distance, ready for anything. He was an older wizard with dull, gray hair hanging down to his collarbone. He dressed like a lumberjack, fit with heavy boots, worn and tattered jeans, and a thick buffalo plaid jacket. An old knitted beanie sat at the top of his head, holding his hair down and in place.

His eyes wearily trained on Hermione as she walked up alongside Tom. A part of her wished she was somewhere quiet and warm, curled up and napping, but there were more important matters that kept her upright and barely awake. Exhausted from the travels, Hermione was ready for answers.

_ You think you can get rid of me, but you have so much more in store for you, Hermione _ , the locket whispered to her menacingly.  _ I’m apart of you now. You will always have a piece of me. _

Calum’s wand was in clear view as they stopped at the very bottom of the wooden steps that lead up to the cabin’s porch. Calum stood above it and like a sixth sense, a magical-like copper smell hit Hermione’s senses. There, a faint glimmer in the faint sunlight, Hermione sensed the barrier between them that Calum had placed. The man was very cautious, it seemed.

“What do you want?” he said in a frail, old, shaky voice.

_ Don’t let his outward appearance confuse you, Hermione. He is a powerful Dark Wizard. Nothing close to Voldemort, but he is dangerous _ , warned the locket. She believed the locket, judging on his battle-ready body language and the strong grip he had on his wand. Tom had told Hermione they had trouble finding Calum since he had managed to use a wand that didn’t even belong to him, so the fact that he had it out now told Hermione he was already aware of what they wanted.

Tom produced his wand, showing it to Calum before he placed it down onto the cold, wet ground. He put his hands up, showing he meant no harm.

“My name is Voldemort. I am here not as an enemy, but as someone who requires your aid,” Tom said respectfully.

Calum chuckled, followed with a rattling cough. “Voldemort, visiting my home? What a day,” he said coldly. 

Calum’s eyes trained on Hermione again and nodded in her direction. “Yes, yes, I know why you’re here. Why should I even help you?”

Hermione, as if on queue, reached into her purse in her hand and pulled out a smaller purse.

“In this purse, an abundance of potion ingredients for minds like yours who enjoy testing poisons,” Tom said as he pointed to the purse. “I can only imagine how difficult it is to find some in hiding,” he finished with a cold half-smile.

Calum shrugged without batting an eyelash. “Good enough,” he said simply.

He raised his wand and diminished the barrier so that the two, and only those two, could pass over the threshold. 

Calum was nothing close to what Hermione had honestly imagined him to be. She imagined him to be a strong and fearful individual, ready to not deal with anyone’s shit. What they got instead was a shriveled, skittish shell of a Dark Wizard that had rumoured to be remotely fearful. She watched him carefully from behind as he led them into his cabin.

Inside the cabin, Hermione was greeted with the old familiar smell of a crackling fireplace. The smell of the oak wood burning was so pungent, she couldn’t take in any other smell. Calum did well to make use of every single inch of space inside the small cabin. Off to the left stood the kitchen with herbs drying from the ceiling, an old stone cooking something inside of a pot, and a deep, old sink filled with pots and pans. Shelves lined the walls, filled with spices and potion ingredients. The entrance area was really the living room, adorned with a well-kept fireplace, a worn red couch facing it, and a few deer heads hanging from the wall above. A bookshelf off to the very right sat before enough space to open to the door to what looked to be cracked open to a messy bedroom. The man lived comfortably and for just one moment, Hermione envied him -- living there, alone and unbothered. 

A small hallway between the kitchen and the living room led to an unknown room on one side and on the other, a small bathroom. The man beckoned the two beyond the living room into the unknown room.

Tom moved in front of Hermione, moving first should the old man try anything. Hermione thought it to be protection, and sweet even, but she knew it was far too good to be true. The locket would always come first.

“This is where I work,” said Calum as he motioned to the darkened room. A small window frosted with layers of dirt and dust only let in a little light for everyone to see what was inside the room.

Shelves of potion books and moving portraits lined the walls. Against the farthest wall was a clean table holding a pewter cauldron. Hermione knew then that that was the room where he made his potions and studied his curses.

Calum waved his wand, and candles they hadn’t even noticed, lit to illuminate the area. 

“Come here, girl,” Calum said as he sat down at a small old bar stool sitting before his cauldron. He beckoned Hermione over as he put on spectacles. 

Wearily, Hermione obliged him.

The man pointed to the necklace with a shaky hand. “May I?”

Voldemort spoke for Hermione. “You may.”

Calum took a hold of the necklace gingerly and drew Hermione closer. The distance between them was uncomfortable. She reeked of days without a proper bath. 

“A horcrux. Intriguing. I haven’t seen one up close like this in such a long time. But this isn’t just any horcrux. This is Voldemort’s, and a cursed one at that…” the man trailed off more to himself than to Tom and Hermione. “This curse is quite an unusual one. It’s one that can only be done with a potion,” Calum said then as he turned his head and looked up at Voldemort over his spectacles.

“So what can be done?” Voldemort ask. Even though he asked, there was something in his voice that suggested that it wasn’t so much a question, but more a demand. 

Calum stared at Voldemort for a sec. Tension filled the air as he straightened up in the stool and sighed. Without saying a word, he leaned towards the table. A little leatherbound journal with a quill sat near the cauldron. He opened the journal to an empty page and began scribbling something down before tearing out the page and instead of handing it over to Voldemort, he handed it to Hermione. 

Hermione took a breath before she accepted the page and looked down. Ten ingredients, five instructions. Hermione’s eyes skimmed through the words before she furrowed her eyebrows and looked up at Voldemort.

Voldemort’s face turned quizzical and he took the page from her before a cold chuckle left his throat. “Are you fucking serious,” he grumbled.

Hermione shook her head. “All that research. The answer was there all along,” Hermione said with a defeated huffed breath. 

On the page set a potion that was so basic that Hermione never even for once believed it would work on such a difficult item so cursed. Anger flurried within her and she turned away from Calum and stared at the door of the cabin. She wanted to leave. 

Voldemort let out a noise that caught Hermione’s attention and when she turned to him, she found him with his wand raised to Calum. Her eyes widened and she reached out a hand to grasp firmly onto the arm holding his wand.

“What are you doing!” she exclaimed.

“He’s of no use to us anymore,” Tom answered with a sneer.

Calum cowered against the table, his eyes wide and filled with horror and fear. He wasn’t given a warning. He was too afraid to draw his own wand for fear of being ended before he could even do so. Tom’s arm held steady and for a moment, Hermione tried to yank on it to try to deter him. 

“Just because someone is not useful to you anymore, doesn’t mean you have to end their life,” Hermione said before tightly set teeth. She didn’t have to ask him what spell he planned on using on Calum. She instantly knew, as if she knew him like that back of her hand already.

The locket said nothing to Hermione, but she can sense it laughing at her.

Tom looked over at Hermione with a warning in his cold eyes. There she was, trying to stop the Dark Lord, and she had no right. His sneer never failed to falter. 

“You can obliviate him! He has done nothing wrong to us, nor does he pose a threat,” Hermione said quickly. When she yanked on his arm once more to find it useless, she moved over to put herself between Calum and Tom’s merciless wand.

Tom blinked at Hermione, confusion and surprise smothering his anger. His arm fell to his side and his lips formed a thin line as he shook his head at her. 

* * *

While Hermione and Tom made progress on getting their hands on the countercurse, Tom had set up a few Death Eaters with the task at setting up their campsite there in the woods. The entire group of them were still exhausted from the amount of apparating they had done. They would need a few days rest before they would head home. 

Deep within the woods, Tom and Hermione found their camp, heavily guarded and fully equipt with a few large tents. In one of them, Tom and Hermione would share and put their heads together on locations and the quickest, possible way to get the countercurse created. Once fully crafted, it would take a full day to brew so they could use it.

The sun had begun to fall. Dinner waited for them on their table in the tent. Something stopped Hermione from eating. After undressing from her outerwear down to leggings and a loose shirt, she sat across from Voldemort at the table, staring at her untouched plate of food.

“This is really happening,” Hermione said breathlessly.

Voldemort paused from his eating and looked over at Hermione. “You’re worried,” murmured.

When Hermione didn’t answer, Tom wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back in his chair, gazing at her for a moment before he crossed his arms on his chest.

“You’ve had that necklace on you for so long, there’s a possible chance that the darkness it influenced on you is permanently imbedded,” he told her calmly.

Hermione blinked at her food and shook her head as if in denial.

_ I told you, _ the locket said vehemently. 

“I never asked for any of this,” she responded.

“I know you didn’t,” Tom murmured as he leaned forward and placed his hands down onto the tabletop. “But it happened. Maybe it was meant to be.”

Hermione looked up at Tom with a glare. Without another word, she sat her napkin down onto the tabletop and got to her feet. She headed to her side of the tent where her cot sat gently sectioned off with a wall of tent material. She kicked off her boots and curled up into the cot and angrily stared at the ugly brown color of the tent’s material.

* * *

Hermione couldn’t sleep, nor could Voldemort. She sensed him at the side of her cot. She turned over and looked up at him just as he bent down and captured her lips with his. His fingers grasped onto the edge of her shirt and he urged it off of her. Hermione helped him and obliged his intentions.

He yanked her leggings down just as he freed his hard erection from the confines of his pants, swiftly moving to crawl on top of her on the bed where he immediately entered her and made her moan. 

That would surely help both of them sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

The faint chirps of morning birds roused Hermione from her sleep. She woke up on her stomach, curled over her pillow and beneath her blanket, still naked from the events of the night before. It was nearly twilight, as Hermione held herself still and listened for signs of anyone’s wake. Only she had been awake.

The smell of the previous night’s campfire still hung in the air and for a moment, as she closed her eyes, Hermione imagined she was back at the tent with Ron and Harry. She imagined that she wasn’t as deep in this mess as she was back with them, when she didn’t have the horcrux’s darkness burying itself into her very being every single moment.

She stirred within her cot and sat up, sighing. With the blanket wrapped around her naked body, she pulled the sheet that held her privacy away and looked at the still tent. On the opposite side, she eyed the sheet that held Voldemort’s privacy. With hesitation for just a mere moment, Hermione walked to his side.

Voldemort laid within a full-sized cot. He laid fast asleep, curled up beneath his blankets on one side of the cot, leaving the other side for Hermione. He stirred awake when he sensed someone’s presence. His sleepy eyes peered over at her and he sat up, alert. She dropped her blanket and in the quietness, her naked body slid under his blanket and laid on her side. Tom turned over and faced her, yawning.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked her in a hoarse voice.

Hermione shook her head and scooted her body over to where she buried her face within Voldemort’s chest. She felt lonely.

At first, Tom’s body went stiff, confused and disgusted, but he understood and he let her be.

* * *

Hermione stirred awake when she felt Tom pull away from her. She suppressed a whine when she felt his warmth leave her. She watched him for a moment as he dressed quietly for the day. It was a few moments before he turned and nudged her.

“Let’s get up. After breakfast we’ll get the ingredients,” he told her.

Hermione nodded her head and quietly left his cot where she headed to her side and dressed for the day.

Outside the tent, Death Eaters were stirring, some already starting on breakfast over the campfire. Hermione sat down on a log positioned by the fire and waited patiently for her turn for food. She was hungry from the dinner she skipped the night before and knew she had to eat something to get her through the day. She wasn’t even sure how much apparating and walking they had ahead of them that day.

The crack of a tree branch pulled the attention of both Hermione and a few Death Eaters, but nothing came of it and they went back to their own business.

After breakfast, the two checked to make sure they had everything they needed, and headed straight for the closest place that would carry the ingredients they needed. Hermione and Tom both had to change into more common wizard and witch-like clothing. She dressed into simple charcoal gray robes and Voldemort dressed in his usual casual slacks, oxford tee shirt, and a comfortable-looking thick neutral wool jumper.

It was a little town hidden beyond a simple wall of brick, much like the way to Diagon Alley back in London. The only thing that made the new location stand out from Diagon Alley was it was much bigger, equipped with everything and more. The people they had come across for the ingredient list Calum had given them weren’t particularly friendly, but Tom had a strong enough personality to battle against them passive aggressively to where the encounters were as quick and painless as possible.

A few hours had passed and the two had stuffed two bags full of fresh ingredients into Hermione’s purse. They sat down at a small cafe that served Butterbeer, coffee, and pastries. When Tom had returned with her small cup of coffee and took the chair across from her at a small round table outside the cafe, Hermione cleared her throat and stirred in her sugar.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but I have the strange feeling we’re being followed,” Hermione murmured to him as she took a sip of her coffee to test if she had put in enough sugar.

Tom looked down at the newspaper he had grabbed from inside the shop and took a sip of his own coffee. When he sat down his mug, he calmly said, “I know. I feel it too.”

Hermione looked around the busy street of Aagorn. There was too much movement for her to really catch sight of anyone, but it was a feeling, like a sixth sense, that was strong in the gut in that moment. She felt eyes bore into the back of her, and she knew better than to turn around in search.

“Act calm and oblivious. When we finish our coffee, we’ll be on our way back. If there truly is anyone following us, we’ll deal with them. It can’t be here,” Voldemort said before he took another sip of his coffee.

Hermione nodded her head. “Alright.”

Calmly, when they finished off their coffee, Tom returned the newspaper and when they left Aagorn, three people followed them. Both protectively and possessively, Tom grabbed a hold on Hermione’s arm and apparated.

They reached the forest where the camp lied, but just out of the protective barrier where their guards laid. They were followed, the followers apparating after them. Tom pulled out his wand and the two turned around to face the ones who followed him as their Death Eaters joined them.

It was the Order of the Phoenix.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she looked over at Tom.

Harry Potter broke through the group of Order that continuously apparated to them in numbers until there was enough for a fight.

“We’re here for Hermione Granger!” called Harry. His face bore destruction and anger.

Hermione’s eyes searched the crowd for Ron, but she couldn’t find him.

“How did they find us?” hissed a Death Eater near them.

Voldemort turned his head and angrily looked down at Hermione. “I should have known you would do this.”

Hermione’s body tensed. Voldemort believed she told the Order of their location. She hadn’t any contact, nor any way to.

Voldemort grabbed Hermione and yanked her backwards roughly to where she could be guarded by a number of Death Eaters. If they wanted Hermione and Voldemort’s horcrux, they would have to pass through a hell of spells to do so.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he hissed at her angrily.

Hermione stumbled backwards from his roughness, trying to find her footing in the leaves and branches. Everything happened so fast, her head shot from side to side, trying to follow what was happening. Spells were being shot, everyone was blocking. The ones who slipped up fell to the earth, unconscious and wounded. The Death Eaters only managed a few killing blows to the Order. A Death Eater fell down at her feet. Frightened, she took a step backwards with a gasp. She felt so helpless.

In the blink of an eye, Voldemort took a step from the Death Eaters and towards the Order. Two vengeful men broke through the front line of the Order with their wands pointed angrily at Voldemort. Both of them shot spells at Voldemort that even he couldn’t block, knocking him onto his ass with a deep wound gashed into the side of his arm.

 _You must do something,_ the locket cried out.

She looked down at the fallen Death Eater at her feet and his wand. She grabbed it with wide eyes and rushed through the horde of Death Eaters just in time to put out a large shield to block the rest of the oncoming attacks at Voldemort.

His eyes widened and he looked up at Hermione for a moment as she ran to his side. His face showed his speechlessness. One moment he thought she had secretly outsmarted him by turning on him, the next she was saving his ass.

The moment the shield Hermione used to block Voldemort faded, she was quick to act back. She used the stranger’s wand in her hand to send a blast towards the front line of the Order. It wasn’t harmful, but it did well in side-tracking them long enough for the Death Eaters behind Hermione and Voldemort to ready for more fighting.

“We’ll save you, Hermione! I promise!” she heard Harry yell at her.

Her eyes blurred with tears and she sniffed as she dropped the wand as the Death Eaters surrounded them like a ball of protection. She turned to her Voldemort and assessed the damage. He was bleeding from multiple places. One more hit and she knew he’d be badly damaged, regardless of the horcruxes out in the world that could save him. She wrapped her arm around him, making him wrap his around her. With all of her strength, she got to her feet with him.

Little by little, Hermione watched through the crowd of the Death Eaters as the Order apparated back, retreating. They had won this battle, but Hermione knew, deep down, it was far from over.

“Someone help me get him to the tent so I can treat him!” Hermione begged.

All of the Death Eaters jumped to her request, the closest taking the Dark Lord’s other side as he steered them towards the protected camp. The rest of the Death Eaters followed, only a few staying behind to raid the bodies of the Order that they had killed. Hermione tried her best not to think about it. She _knew_ those Orders. She didn’t want to know who it was the Death Eaters got.

Two Death Eaters parted the opening to the tent for Hermione and Voldemort. He plopped down into the nearest chair, which stood at the table in the middle of the tent. Hermione, with shaking hands that began to run red with Tom’s blood, was quick and diligent.

Tom’s eyes were heavy, but open and aware as he watched Hermione.

Hermione reached for the purse she had on her that carried everything. She opened it shakily and yanked Tom’s wand from his hand to accio her healing droughts. Tom didn’t even have the chance to lash out at her for doing such a thing, but she sat down his wand on the table beside him, out of reach for her to do anything more with.

First, she gave him a blood replenishment potion before she tore his jacket and shirt open so she could take a better look at his torso and arm injuries. In shredded pieces, the fabric of his jacket and shirt fell to the tent’s floor. His chest heaved from the trauma. Thick slices held to his upper arm and abdomen. Hermione took her Star Grass Salve and spread it across his wounds, hoping it would help. When she had emptied the contents of the tin she had the salve in, she wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand as she sat back, resting on her knees before him. With the miracle she was hoping for, she watched the salve heal his wounds and relieve them. She let out a heavy breath and closed the tin, tossing it back into her bag.

“Hermione,” she heard Voldemort say weakly.

Hermione looked up at him, waiting for what he wanted to say.

“You surprised me,” he said with a cough as he sat up straighter in the chair, already beginning to feel better from the salve.

Hermione sniffed. She didn’t realize she had cried earlier when she dragged him into the tent to heal him. She got to her feet and plopped the bag down onto the table.

“You need rest,” she murmured.

Tom reached out and grabbed a hold onto her wrist when she began to turn to walk away.

“For a moment, back in the forest, I doubted you. I thought you had somehow managed to go behind my back and give out our whereabouts,” he told her. “But you protected me,” he soon added, shaking his head up at her with wonder in his cold eyes. “You have truly proven your devotion.”

Hermione’s free hand touched the hand that held her wrist, gripping it gently in a friendly way as she nodded her head at him once. She wasn’t sure how to tell him that she would have gone with the Order in the blink of an eye, how she had the countercurse potion on her person, how she could have easily let them beat him down long enough to escape with the Order, but somehow she was too torn to do so. Her heart, thanks to the damned locket, was Voldemort’s now. As was her soul. Darkness clouded her, and would continue to do so even after the locket would be off of her. It was the kind of darkness that Hermione knew, if it came down to it, the Order wouldn’t even trust her.

“You need rest,” she repeated. “Let me help you up. You’ve been through a bit of trauma to your body,” she urged him.

Voldemort sighed and nodded his head, letting Hermione baby him over to his cot where she gave him a fresh, comfortable shirt, and laid him down to sleep. Hermione had plans she needed to see through while he slept. She didn’t want to be disturbed. She needed quiet time to herself.  


* * *

 

At the sign of first twilight, Hermione was already out of bed, dressed, and headed out to the camp. Before she left, she double checked on Tom and his wounds, which had healed up nicely, only leaving behind fatigue from what his body had just been through.

 _You saved him_ , the locket whispered , _They’re all surprised by you. Even Voldemort himself._ Hermione sighed as she looked down at the locket. The annoyance she once felt for it wasn’t present as strongly as it had been at first. It was almost as if Hermione had grown accustomed to it.

A few Death Eaters were already stirring, some had even begun on breakfast, charming food above the crackling fire pit consisting of eggs, sausage, and toast. They were quiet when they watched Hermione exit the tent. Without a word, they offered her a plate before she even had a chance to ask for one. Something different fell over the camp. Almost as if the opinions the Death Eaters had towards Hermione were changed after the previous day’s events.

There were still a few more ingredients Hermione had to get her hands on, and they were in plain site, luckily in the forest around them. If she had a wand, it would be easier to find, but for the time being, she would have to use her wits and be aware of every detail of her surroundings.

A hint of anxiety throbbed within Hermione as she begun to leave the campsite, unsure if she’d be stopped. Two Death Eaters that normally accompanied her and Voldemort out for protection ran after her. She froze, her body going stiff as she looked at them. They said nothing. It clicked in a moment later that they were there to protect her.

By high noon, Hermione was able to return to the camp with all of the ingredients intact. She was tired and hungry all over again. The camp buzzed with Death Eaters, just waiting around, waiting on their Lord. They huddled around the warm campfire to battle against the chilly day.

Hermione peeked into the tent and saw Voldemort was still fast asleep. So quietly, careful not to disturb him, Hermione found the cauldron and began working on the antidote. Her goal was to have it ready for the next day, so she could be free of the necklace and its burden that accompanied it.


	10. Chapter 10

When Voldemort finally stirred, he found Hermione hunched over the cauldron in the farthest corner of the tent. She had a blanket wrapped around her, sleepy eyes watching the contents bubble.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked her quizzically. 

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t heard him stir. Her mind was so wrapped up in the antidote that her senses weren’t even aware of her surroundings. Her head turned and she looked up at him, taking in the site of a fully recovered Dark Lord, and then looked back to the cauldron. 

“I made it.”

“What? Oh-” he cleared his throat and sat down on the bench next to Hermione. “I thought you were going to wait for me.”

Hermione shrugged. “Why bother? I know how to brew potions. And besides, it takes a full day before it can be used,” Hermione murmured as she got to her feet and shrugged out of the blanket before neatly folding it up and resting it down where she had been sitting.

Voldemort was silent as Hermione walked over to the table in the middle of the tent where a platter of dinner had been kept. Hermione had picked at it here and there, charming it to stay fresh and warm for when Voldemort might wake up, should he want any. She made a small plate of bits and pieces of the platter’s contents before handing it over to Voldemort without a word. It contained a roll, bits of roast, some buttery mashed potatoes, and some roasted carrots.

Tom accepted the plate and as he accepted eating utensils from Hermione, he grabbed onto the hand holding his fork, pulling her attention fully to him as he looked up at her seriously through his thick lashes. 

“You proved yourself today, Hermione Granger.”

Hermione blinked down at him, faintly furrowing her eyebrows.

“You could have let them nearly destroy me. You could have let them severely injure me. Instead you kept me as safe as I could be. I was foolish and made a mistake in stepping out like that, but you were there. And you stayed,” Voldemort said in a voice that was so soft it felt foreign to Hermione.

Tom took the fork and set it down before grabbing Hermione’s left arm and pushing her sleeve up to bare her veins where the Dark Mark sat on the Death Eaters. Tom kissed her. He looked up at her again, only that time around, his eyes were dark with determination and a dangerous excitement that honestly coiled up a new excitement within Hermione herself.

“You’re ready to take on the Dark Mark,” he decided.

Hermione let out a short breath, her eyes widening, but not a single noise escaping her. Where weeks ago, she’d have every fiber in her being screaming  _ no, this isn’t right _ , not a single one sang it at Tom’s decision. So when she naturally said nothing, not even the smallest of objections, Tom got to his feet, still holding her arm. Gently, he pulled her out to the campsite where the sun was just falling, bleeding through the trees in rays of harsh oranges while Death Eaters still hung out near the campfire, still picking at dinner themselves.

When they knew it was Voldemort who had finally woken up and saw whose arm he held onto strongly, they all got to their feet, the camp falling silent. Maybe even then, they knew what was going on, or maybe they were honestly curious and confused all at once.

“On this evening, we will officially be adding on to our numbers with the first Mudblood Death Eater!” Voldemort announced.

There was still some unrest, a few already moving towards their Dark Lord with anger and questions.

Voldemort put out his hand, instantly, the camp fell silent again.

“Hermione has proven her worth on more than one occasion. She’s unlike anyone else with her blood. She’s special. And after the locket has imbedded her permanently with its darkness, it’s clear where her new place is. Not with Dumbledore’s Army,” he said with a loud, dark chuckle. “It’s with us, where her knowledge could be used to its full potential. Where her  _ power _ can be its greatest.”

Voldemort procured his wand and already had aimed it at Hermione’s arm. It hovered above her exposed flesh in hesitation as he looked out at his followers. When not a single one made another move, nor made another bout of words against Hermione, his wand’s tip pressed firmly into Hermione’s skin and immediately, her screams echoed within the forest as Voldemort engraved his Dark Mark into his new Death Eater.

Hermione’s vision blurred at the splitting pain his wand brought her. When she had the stomach to brave the pain and look down at the arm, she nearly fainted at the realization that  hit her when Tom finished, the Dark Mark on her arm. A part of her actually proud, ecstatic even, but there was still a part of her, no matter how faded it had become, that cried out in terror. She could feel the terrored cries being smothered by the darkness of the locket. Adrenaline soon took its place and soon enough, it rushed through her veins at alarming rates. She barely even realized, when the pain continued, that the Dark Mark was completed and a new mark began to form something at her neck. She’d later have to check a mirror to truly see the second, important mark he had chosen her. She was, after all, the first of her kind in the Death Eaters.

When the pain faded away and the sound of adrenaline bubbling in her ears turned into cheers of the Death Eaters around them. It was all over. 

Hermione had officially been made a Death Eater.

A smile reached her rosey lips as she looked up from her new marks and around at the Death Eaters, and finally, to Voldemort. When she realized she had been shaking, she huffed out a breath, which ghosted before her. A very proud, grinning, and menacing Voldemort laughed and put a hand on her back.

“Let’s head back to the tent where it’s warm,” he suggested.

Tom didn’t have to tell her twice.

Hermione gave one last grin at the Death Eaters around her, who nodded their heads to her in praise and respect, and turned her back to them to head back into the warm tent. Ducking under the protective barrier, Hermione stood at the entry area of the tent and took in the warmth against her chilled skin. She looked down at her Dark Mark again, breathing quick and fast as the last of the adrenaline faded away.

Tom entered into the tent behind Hermione and as she turned around and looked up at him, feeling the quietness and the privacy of the tent, she grabbed Tom’s shirt and pulled him in for a rough kiss. All the adrenaline and excitement, even the sickening of the pain from the marks, had sexually excited her.

Tom wasn’t hesitant to indulge her. He grabbed her face and kissed her back even rougher than she did him. He walked her backwards, already ripping the fabrics of her clothing off of her as she fumbled with shaky, excited hands at his shirt and then his pants. Hermione was naked by the time the edge of the table hit her rear. Tom grabbed her from her ass and hoisted her up onto the edge of the table, knocking over any plates or goblets that stood in his way. Goblets fell to the floor, clanking as Hermione was only able to get his pants yanked down to his knees just in time for him to roughly and impatiently press his erect member into her wet and throbbing entrance. He bucked wildly, like an animal, as he threw his head back in ecstasy and Hermione held onto his strong arms almost like stairway railings.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding herself steady as he fucked her roughly. It was so rough that it hurt, but felt so incredibly amazing at the same time. He filled her until it nearly tore her apart, and she loved it. She cried out, screamed out his name and endless words of profanities. 

After what felt like forever, unable to come down from the cloud of pleasure as her wetness coated him endlessly, Tom pulled out from her and pushed her down onto the floor until she was on all of her fours. Getting down on his knees, he fucked her from behind, a new angle that meant that every time he fucked her, his rock hard cock rubbed nicely against her g-spot.

At some point, Hermione leaned back to where she too was on just her knees and Tom reached around and held roughly onto her breasts. He played with her nipples, which were hard like beads. It added a twisting sensation deep within her stomach that couldn’t be twisted enough to pop uncoiled, her impending orgasm. A hand still held fast to her breast and toyed with her sensitive nipples, while the other reached down between her parted legs and found her swollen clit, engorged with wanton need to the brink of peaking out from the hood it hid beneath.

Roughly, his fingers rubbed merciless circles into the clit that begged for so much attention that Hermione didn’t know how to comprehend it, nor ask for it directly. It wasn’t long before her walls vibrated around him, sucking him up with her orgasm that shattered within her so roughly she nearly screamed bloody murder.

Her body crashed forward into her fours again, trying to find her breath from the impact of the orgasm he had caused her. She hadn’t realized he was still fucking her until he yanked himself out of her and spilled his seed onto her bare back.


	11. Chapter 11

The evening after had found Hermione wringing her hands together nervously as she watched Tom bottle up the antidote and ready to use it on the locket. They had spent the rest of the night before relaxing, fucking off and on until they no longer had the energy and slept until the bright sunlight of the next afternoon hindered them away and aware of the day they were about to sleep away.

Hermione’s breath was shaky as Tom raised the bottle to Hermione, silently offering it to her to drink up.

She was hesitant, suddenly feeling afraid as so many questioned swam around within her mind like: what if darkness never truly imbedded within her and she goes back to her normal self the moment the necklace falls of? What if the antidote doesn’t work and she is stuck with the horcrux forever? What if she turns into a third different person when the locket leaves her and she won’t like it? 

_ We’ve come a long way, haven’t we, _ the locket asked proudly.  _ I’ve done my work. _

“You’re mine. I’ll protect you. Drink up,” Tom said simply.

Hermione grabbed the vial from Tom, popping off its protective cork and quick like a bandage, Hermione tilted the contents into her mouth and the salty, tangy liquid coated her tongue and she gulped down until its warming liquid reached her stomach.

A rough  _ clank _ hit Hermione’s ears in front of her on the floor and she looked down to see the locket there, free.

Tom bent down and gingerly picked up the locket, holding it up to his eyes and gazing it as Hermione collected herself.

A heavy weight felt as if it had been lifted from Hermione’s soul, but that was it. Just a weight. No locket whisperings, no feeling of a constant growing sway of darkness. Just peacefulness. 

She waited for the darkness to leave her, she waited for it to leave her desolate and alone, but it never did. It remained there, like a tiny ball of endless energy within her, full of hatred and hungry for more of  _ everything _ . 

She rushed to the nearest mirror, hoping that it wasn’t some dream, that the necklace really was finally off of her. When she rushed to a small mirror perched on an end table by her cot, Hermione paused and gasped at the site of her second mark. Staring back at her was the reflection of the special second mark that Tom had chosen for her. Instantly understanding its significance, the corner of Hermione’s lips quirked upwards into a smirk. As if created by black ink, the mark of a tattooed chained choker necklace wrapped around her neck.

“Why did you chose this mark?” Hermione asked Tom as she felt him walk up from behind her. 

Gently, Tom took the bottom of her unruly hair and pulled it to the side to kiss her at the side of her neck, over her mark before he looked at her through her mirror.

“You’re mine. You’re a special form of Death Eater, Hermione. You’re a mudblood Death Eater with incredible power who will be at my side in our journey to greatness,” he whispered to her into her ear.

Tom moved away from her for a moment and Hermione turned to watch him pull something from his bag he had kept, charmed to where only he could open it, at the foot of his cot. From it, he pulled out a long, rectangular box. As soon as he had pulled it out, he was walking back over to Hermione, holding it out for her to take. It was a black box wrapped in expensive green ribbon.

“A welcoming gift, for you.”

Hermione immediately took it from him, half knowing just what was inside the present. Gingerly untying the ribbon and letting it fall to the side of her cot, she pulled the top of the box off to find a brand new wand within.  _ Her _ wand. It wasn’t her old wand, but it was darker. Placing the box down, she picked up the wand and felt the familiar paired buzz within her body she had never thought she’d feel again after the first time she chose her wand from Ollivanders in Diagon Alley. Pure happiness was all she could register within her mind.

“Let’s go home,” Hermione murmured to him.

Something physically sparked in Tom’s eyes at what she had said. She caught a glimpse of it when she looked up at him with thankful eyes. He smiled back at her, coming to an understanding. It was time to return to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

At some point, in the midst of packing up the tents carefully and destroying all evidence of them being there, Hermione was the last to follow in suit. They were about to leave for a scheduled portkey that would take them home to England. She stumbled behind them out of the forest, making their way to the town where their transportation waited for them. 

She paused when she was just about to pass a small alleyway, her body going rigged at the strange feeling that caused her to turn her head. Someone was there, and they were watching her. 

Safe within the depths of the shadows, Hermione made out the worried face of Harry and Ron. Annoyance sparked within her. It was foolish of them to be out and near the Dark Lord like that, besides the fact that they were alone, without any backup. She could just sense it. It was just them.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione hissed at them as she turned to look at the group of Death Eaters and Tom, who were busy discussing their travels home, meeting with the stranger who had procured their portkey.

“We’re here to rescue you,” Harry whispered to her.

Hermione shook her head at them, letting out a sigh. 

“You’re too late,” Hermione simply said.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, exchanging a glance before they took a step towards Hermione. Before they could reach the light that glowed from the nearby lampposts, Hermione drew her wand and aimed it at them. They froze at the site of her wand, but Harry was quick to draw his out of natural habit.

“What happened to you?” Ron asked sadly as his eyes travelled the lengths of Hermione, with her pale complection, unruly hair, and her dark and fancy clothing. “What did they do to you?” he then added, more hostile to his friend, or moreso the ghost of his friend.

Hermione shook her head at them once more. “I’m going to warn you. I made a bargain with Voldemort. You two will do well not to get in his way.  _ Ever _ . If you cross him, for any means, I will not be there to stop him and save you two.” She motioned her wand to the two of them to fulfill her meaning before she relaxed her hand and hid her wand away again.

“Hermione? You coming?” called a Death Eater. It was time to be leaving before they realized something was up, that Ron and Hermione were having an audience with their new Death Eater.

Hermione glared at the two. “Don’t you dare come after me again. I’m one of them now.”

“We won’t give up on you,” promised Harry.

Hermione sighed at him and crossed her arms over her chest lazily. She turned her body towards the group waiting for her and looked away from her two old friends. “Don’t fool yourselves. There’s no saving a Death Eater.”

She hurried away from them without another word, nor guilt. Instead, she felt an annoyance bubble within her chest. Harry had always been so honorable and loyal. She knew he would keep his promise. She also knew it would be the death of both him and Ron, even the entire Order itself. 

* * *

Deep panting and throaty moans bounced off the walls of Voldemort’s bedroom. Tom laid in the middle of his bed, naked with his head thrown backwards into the pillows with his adam's apple bobbing with the pleasure the lioness on top of him was bringing. A drop of sweat rolled down the length of Hermione’s Dark Mark as she balanced her hands behind her on Tom’s legs as she held herself upright and moved her hips in a relaxed, but steady gyrating motion as Tom’s rock-hard cock laid buried deep within her.

It felt like hours that they were like that, naked and horny for each other. They chose to go slow, wanting to savor every second of pleasure they traded. She sat there, gyrating him within her, grinding on him to the hilt. Every now and then, when she thought she had enough self control not to let her orgasm wash over her just yet, she would bounce up and down on him with her legs. Tom enjoyed the grinding part. He relished every moment and every bit where he could  _ feel _ himself inside of her, where he could  _ feel  _ her.

His hands gripped her thighs roughly, almost in a bruising kind of force, more to hold off from his own orgasm than to help her stay steady. Every now and then, when he had enough control, he would play with her hardened and sensitive nipples, which almost always earned a whine of pleasure from his Hermione, which also made it harder for her to hold off from the impending pleasure’s end.

It was inevitable, however, that Tom had enough and couldn’t control his want for his own orgasm. He needed to cum as soon as possible, feeling a heavy weight hold itself within his balls. His cock twitched within her, throbbing and burning like her neglected clit swollen and sticking from its hood. 

Hermione was so sensitive, so horny that she swore to Merlin that if he even just touched her clit once, she’d surely come undone. 

“Please,” she soon begged. “I need it.”

Tom reached up and flicked a nipple, earning another whine that made his cock twitch more. “What do you need?” he asked evilly.

“I need to cum, please Tom,” she begged as she rocked her hips.

Tom let out a purr and trapped a nipple between his fingers, rolling it softly, teasingly. “You’re so wet, so tight, I don’t want it to end.”

Hermione shook her head, causing her damp hair to swing back and forth behind her. “Neither do I, but I can’t take it anymore. It’s going to drive me nuts. I need it,” she begged more as her clit throbbed and her wet pussy burned with the ache of the intense pleasure.

His cock throbbed more at her words. To hear and see her beg like that was enough to make his hand drop from her nipple down between her legs where the daylight that glowed in from the window, he could see her clit begging for his touch.

“Stop moving and stay still. I want to feel you when you-” he started as she quickly obeyed him and with his thumb, made skilled circles into her clit and not long after, felt her walls close in on him with such a tightening force that when they relaxed into waves of her orgasm around his cock, he came then and there right along with her. 

Hermione rocked her hips a little as he refused to leave her clit until he knew she was done, helping him feel the best of an orgasm he could in that moment.

When the two were spent, a very sweaty Hermione climbed off of him and groaned at the ache in both her thighs and her lower back. She tumbled into the comfy bed next to Tom and focused on evening her breath back to normal, still partially dazed from the strong orgasm.

“Well that was…” Tom started.

“Yeah.” Hermione nodded her head.

Tom let out a deep breath and turned his head to look at Hermione. He was soaking in the glow of a woman, a very powerful woman, who's been sexually satisfied to the max.

Hermione turned her head and offered a tiny smile to Tom. “It’s still difficult to wrap my mind around everything,” she suddenly murmured. 

Tom was smart enough to know that she wasn’t referring to the mind blowing sex they had just shared. She was talking about  _ everything _ , about turning over to the opposite side, to becoming a Death Eater, to being swayed to the dark side of magic…

“Yes, it is,” Tom agreed with her.

Hermione looked between his dark eyes. “What now?” she simply asked him, and Tom, once again, knew what she meant.

Tom reached over and pushed a strand of her hair out from her face as he traced the side of her jaw with a single finger. “Now, you’re going to help me destroy the Order of the Phoenix.”


End file.
